Shushu, shushu, shushu, shushu……the sound of one machine powering another flowed across the road, though the barnyard, over the pastures, between the leaves of the pussy willows, alders and black birch growing in the marsh.
Our new neighbors got to work on their new building early and the drone of the kerosene powered machine was like a heartbeat as I sat on the Gulley Bridge meditating.
Still I was able to hear the trickle of low water over rocks and the late summer song of the birds.
The last few times I sat at the Gulley Bridge Catbirds kept me company. I’ve come to expect them, with their cat-like call.
But today there was a flurry of small birds, hopping on the branches of the bushes that hang over the stream. At first I only saw movement. The flicker of shadow and light, the bounce of a leaf.
The longer I sat and the more still I was, the closer they came. Until one hopped onto the opposite end of the bridge… and looked at me?
I could only see that they were small, silhouettes against the gray morning light. Until one took his time on a branch so close I could see his bright yellow breast and the black mask around his eyes.
I could try reaching for my iPhone which was in my boot behind me. But I knew if I moved that much, he would fly away.
I thought about how when I look at something long enough it leaves a image on my eyes. If I spend a long time weeding, when I got to bed at night and closed my eyes, I saw weeds. Even for the short amount of time that I sat this morning looking at the two planks of wood that make up the bridge, when I closed my eyes, I saw the negative them.
So I looked, just looked, at the little bird with the bright yellow breast and black mask, and without thinking about it, found that I could remember the bird as if I had taken a picture of him. That the bird whose name I didn’t know was recorded in my brain, just as good or maybe even better than if I had taken his picture.
Better because I’m more likely to remember him, since now he lives in my brain and not my iPhone or computer.
Later in the day I googled… little bird with yellow breast and black mask around his eyes, and found that, along the way of human history, someone had named this bird a Common Yellowthroat.
It wouldn’t have worked the same if this bird didn’t have such distinguishing features.
To my eye the females were grayish brown with a hint of yellow and would have been harder for me to identify. I think I might know them less from their color and markings and more from their shape (short and plump) and their movements (considered and fearless).
As I left the bridge the heartbeat of our neightbor’s machines got louder. But the bright yellow breast and the black mask of the little bird overpowered the noise.
There is a good chance I will forget the name of the Common Yellowthroat, but I will not forget what he looks like. And the next time I see him, I’ll say to myself, there is the kind bird who was not afraid of me while I meditated. As brazen as his yellow beast and secure in his black mask.
