Because today is election day, and a particularly fractious one at that, I want to share an observation that I made from my office window some months ago. That said, do not be alarmed. I am not going to write about politics, per se. I am going to write about birds.
My office sits in the front of our house with windows that overlook the yard. From those windows, I have a good view of several sage bushes that are planted below our porch railing, as well as of two towering oak trees whose branches stretch toward the house almost like a child petting a small animal.
I often look out at the oak trees and the sage bushes when I am stuck in my writing, and one morning last Spring, I saw a mockingbird perched on a branch a few yards away. Mockingbirds are very common in our neighborhood, so it was not unusual to see one, and it was not doing anything extraordinary. It was just sitting there. But for whatever reason, I watched it, and I became more and more interested as I did so.
At first glance, a bird sitting on a branch is an unremarkable sight. They do it who knows how many times for who knows how many minutes every day, and from our earth-bound point of view, it is far less exciting than flying. Following this line of thinking, a human might as well watch a bird sitting on a branch as a bird might watch a human sitting in a chair. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, I watched, and I was slowly amazed.
Depending on the size of a branch, it may be unfair to say that a bird “rests” upon it. This mockingbird was sitting on a good-sized branch which had smaller branches growing from it, but the bird’s body was in subtle, incessant motion. The tail in particular never seemed to be still, but was constantly lifted up or flattened down, angled left or right, adjusting for the force of the breeze or the swaying of the tree in it. My muscles seemed to feel sore just looking at it and marveling at the precision of its control and the persistence of its motion. Balance is an intricate and difficult thing to manage. It is not a passive state, but one of exertion.
I have deliberately pulled away from reading any news for the last week leading up to this election, and I have not yet read any news of it today. (It is just after 9 pm as I write.) Whatever the outcome of this evening, there is certain to be frustration and bitterness from many, and in the months ahead, we would all do well to practice the art of balance: balancing when to speak and when to reserve our thoughts—balancing anger or elation with civility—balancing our relationships with friends and loved ones who have different viewpoints.
Balance is hard. It requires constant effort, and it may not be in vogue in an age of instant posting and polarized discourse. But if we manage it, like a bird on a branch, we can keep our footing when our support sways, whether the breeze blows as we wish it to or not.
My office sits in the front of our house with windows that overlook the yard. From those windows, I have a good view of several sage bushes that are planted below our porch railing, as well as of two towering oak trees whose branches stretch toward the house almost like a child petting a small animal.
I often look out at the oak trees and the sage bushes when I am stuck in my writing, and one morning last Spring, I saw a mockingbird perched on a branch a few yards away. Mockingbirds are very common in our neighborhood, so it was not unusual to see one, and it was not doing anything extraordinary. It was just sitting there. But for whatever reason, I watched it, and I became more and more interested as I did so.
At first glance, a bird sitting on a branch is an unremarkable sight. They do it who knows how many times for who knows how many minutes every day, and from our earth-bound point of view, it is far less exciting than flying. Following this line of thinking, a human might as well watch a bird sitting on a branch as a bird might watch a human sitting in a chair. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, I watched, and I was slowly amazed.
Depending on the size of a branch, it may be unfair to say that a bird “rests” upon it. This mockingbird was sitting on a good-sized branch which had smaller branches growing from it, but the bird’s body was in subtle, incessant motion. The tail in particular never seemed to be still, but was constantly lifted up or flattened down, angled left or right, adjusting for the force of the breeze or the swaying of the tree in it. My muscles seemed to feel sore just looking at it and marveling at the precision of its control and the persistence of its motion. Balance is an intricate and difficult thing to manage. It is not a passive state, but one of exertion.
I have deliberately pulled away from reading any news for the last week leading up to this election, and I have not yet read any news of it today. (It is just after 9 pm as I write.) Whatever the outcome of this evening, there is certain to be frustration and bitterness from many, and in the months ahead, we would all do well to practice the art of balance: balancing when to speak and when to reserve our thoughts—balancing anger or elation with civility—balancing our relationships with friends and loved ones who have different viewpoints.
Balance is hard. It requires constant effort, and it may not be in vogue in an age of instant posting and polarized discourse. But if we manage it, like a bird on a branch, we can keep our footing when our support sways, whether the breeze blows as we wish it to or not.
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