Opportunity Knocks and Nature Calls: musings on an early evening walk

My joy at seeing my crocus blossoms open this week led me to take a walk one early evening around the neighborhood, to see what else I could find that would prove that warmer weather really is on its way.

As I left my house, I thought maybe I would use the time alone to organize my thoughts. I have an unending list of things to do that is constantly being added to and re-prioritized. I don't often have quiet time alone to think, and when I do the first thoughts that come are of "what do I need to do next?" I also thought maybe I would use the walk for exercise, which I so desperately need. So I began to walk briskly and organize my thoughts as I walked.

After one lap around the neighborhood, I remembered why I'd originally set out for a walk. I fought the impulse to dwell on my "to-do's" and decided that I would instead enjoy my walk for the sake of walking itself. My steps slowed as I began to really see what was around me. As I tried to empty my mind of unhelpful thoughts, I found that I also had to empty it of noise. I only wanted to see and hear the simple things of spring.

Having made that determination, I became immediately aware (having been previously only semi-conscious) of the noise of the modern world around me. The rumbling of the jet engine in the sky above, and the incessant hum of the traffic from the busy road on which I live, became all at once offensive to me. The former faded rather quickly, the latter subsided gradually the farther I walked away from it. But still I had to focus; fine-tune my listening to other things.

I then became aware of another layer of sound, this time not offensive. It was loud and bustling, but friendly—the sounds of a neighborhood. I could pick out the sound of a basketball being bounced in a driveway down the road, the occasional car turning past, garbage cans being rolled down the driveway to the curb, children laughing from their back yards.

Then I began to be aware of the noise nearest to, and coming from, myself. I heard the sound of my own shoes on the pavement as I walked, with the occasional crunch of loose gravel underfoot. I became sensitive to how loud the wind was in my ears. I heard my own breath, louder than usual as a result of the bit of brisk walking. All of these things were not the sounds I was searching for. When I became aware of them, I could set them aside and try again to focus. At last, I found the simple sounds of nature--in the songs of the birds.

Now, I have to tell you, I don’t even like birds. The only bird I ever came close to touching was an arrogant little parakeet named Elliot who would bite any finger that entered the confines of his cage. One time Elliot was released from his cage. He promptly flew into a slow moving ceiling fan, which propelled him across the room into a window, which he hit and then slid down until finally plopping onto the floor. After a moment, he staggered to his feet, seemed to shake his disoriented head, and flew sideways out an open door. I admit to laughing at that scene, then and now. Not very compassionate of me, I realize, but he was fine and he did come back to his cage eventually. I always wondered if his personality was a bit altered after that experience.

But on my walk, in this moment, I became fascinated with the sounds of the birds I was hearing. When I focused on the birds alone, I realized how very many sounds in just that layer I could find. I admit to not knowing a lot about birds. Not very many could I name if I saw them, to say nothing of the calls they make. But it was interesting to me to listen to their very many different songs. After a moment I realized I was coming upon a scene of a very large group of birds. In trying to localize the sound I looked high, as the sound reminded me of the hundreds of starlings that sometimes perch in the elm trees in my back yard. But there was nothing but a 15 foot pine tree, which was even more of a bush than a tree with its dense needles from top to ground. I stopped walking altogether, and realized that a massive amount of sound was coming from this tree.

I stopped to stare, and to listen. Birds of all kinds were flitting in and out of the tree. The noise was tremendous. It sounded like the excited chatter of a crowd awaiting the arrival of someone important. It reminded me of a group of women, laughing and gossiping. I wondered what they were talking about. Do birds talk to each other? I imagined they might be telling each other how to build their nests, and what to do with that particular stick they just picked up, or bringing news from the family down the road, or offering a discourse from their travel journal as they just flew 600 miles to get here.

In one terrifying moment, I wondered what would happen if the birds all of a sudden decided they didn’t like me standing there, staring and listening to them, and they all flew out of the tree at once like some scene out of a Hitchcock film. Almost involuntarily, I took a few quick steps past the tree in response. The birds went silent. One appeared on an outer branch and eyed me carefully, as if to determine whether I was friend or foe. After a moment he apparently decided on the former, and went back inside and the gossip began anew.

I wondered for a moment if they were then gossiping about me. “Did you see that weird human out there staring at us? What’s with her?” I could have stood there all evening studying those birds, but a friendly honk from a neighbor’s passing truck broke the spell, and I continued on my walk.

My slower pace and focused attention allowed me to observe things that I wouldn’t have normally. I noticed a robin swoop in front of me from tree to tree. I stopped to see where he had come from, and found a few of his friends in the tree right next to me. They were perfectly still and silent, watching and waiting. I noticed the occasional bird up higher in the sky, and wondered where they were going.

Then I came upon another delightful surprise. There is at the back end of the subdivision a little pond. I’ve always known it was there, and maybe once or twice have walked up to its fenced borders to see if there were any ducks. But today, after living in this area 7 ½ years, I finally took the opportunity to pause and observe.

I watched the ducks. For the most part, they seemed to be paired off. It made me think of a small town evening, with ladies and gents arm in arm enjoying a stroll on the riverfront. Occasionally they would tip upside down for a bite to eat, creating rippling circles extending out into the pond. I noticed one male who didn’t seem to have a mate, flirting occasionally when a couple might stray a bit from each other, only to be charged off by the protective male. I hoped he could find a partner.

After a few moments a couple of geese waddled over to the water. I hadn’t noticed that there were quite a few geese on the other side of the pond. The geese, being stronger and more powerful swimmers, left a greater wake behind them as they swam purposefully to the other side to join their friends. They seemed to me more elegant and sophisticated, if a bit conceited, holding their long necks high in the air while passing by and ignoring the quacking of the friendly ducks.

A loud honk from a pair of geese in the air was answered by the group in the water, guiding them in. It was fascinating to watch more of them gather in from the surrounding banks, seeming to converse one with another as if the traveling dignitaries had finally arrived.

All these things I watched in quiet pleasure for over half an hour. The air was crisp, the breeze cool as it wafted towards me over the water. My reverie was interrupted by a group of laughing teenagers across the pond. I looked away from the pond and was surprised to find the moon high, and twilight dimming into the deeper, dusky sky. In the stillness I took one last longing breath and sighed, unwilling to admit it was time to return to civilization.

I walked past the busy pine tree on the way home, hoping for one last bit of enjoyment. But all was silent; the birds having either settled in for the evening or flown off to another more private location, free from on-looking humans such as myself.

The closer I walked toward the busy road that lines my home, the fainter became the sounds of spring I’d set out to find, and one at a time the layers of noise sneaked back into my sub-conscious mind. The stark contrast between the peacefulness I had just experienced and the activity I was approaching led to a new realization. In that moment, I understood why they say that opportunity knocks and nature calls. It is because Opportunity often shows up unexpectedly. He is sometimes abrupt, inconvenient, and short-lived. Nature is more polite. She calls first. She hopes you are available. She’s always there. I found it an interesting relationship that for me, on this night, it took Opportunity to re-acquaint me with Nature.

I’m grateful I took advantage of the opportunity that had so unexpectedly presented itself this evening, in the midst of a busy day and bustling neighborhood. I’m grateful for the sense of renewal of spirit I felt having communed, however briefly, with nature. My steps quickened as I became aware of another sensation within me, requiring my return home. As they say, when nature calls….