Tiny Bits of Treasure #2 | An Invitation from a Bird Nerd

Surprising no one, the best words for today are Mary Oliver’s. I don’t remember when I stumbled upon her poem, Invitation, but it resonated so very deeply. Fun fact: I’m a birder in training. I am a budding bird nerd, if you will. 

Oh do you have time
       to linger
               for just a little while
                      out of your busy

and very important day
       for the goldfinches
               that have gathered
                      in a field of thistles

My dad got me hooked in the last couple of years – okay, yes, fine. It DID coincide with my 40th birthday and still being in Covid lockdown – but I haven’t gone a day without pausing on the deck, the sidewalk, or in the park and tilting my head to the sky to see what I could see and hear. 

for a musical battle,
       to see who can sing
               the highest note,
                      or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
       or the most tender?
               Their strong, blunt beaks
                      drink the air

Not all birdsong is created equal. I could do without the crow murders hanging in the cedar tree out back, caw-cawing like they’re at a damn rave while I’m trying to read a book or drink some coffee for five damn minutes. And while the parrots of Telegraph Hill are gorgeous and such a cool phenomenon, now that I live in their morning flight pattern from Coit Tower to Alamo Square, their… What are we calling that? Chatter? Their chatter is, well, it’s a lot. Cool, but keep it quick, you know?

as they strive
       melodiously
               not for your sake
                      and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
       but for sheer delight and gratitude—
               believe us, they say,
                      it is a serious thing

BUT! Have you heard finches chirp with each other? Or robins call back and forth between trees, alerting all around that the sun is indeed coming up today? I love the call of a morning dove because it reminds me of hearing them in my childhood home (PSA: Mourning doves are mourning doves. DO NOT COME TO *MY* HOUSE AND CALL IT A PIGEON HOW DARE YOU).

just to be alive
       on this fresh morning
               in the broken world.
                      I beg of you,

do not walk by
       without pausing
               to attend to this
                      rather ridiculous performance.

I’ve been an early riser for most of my life, and now that we have a puppy, I look forward to my 6am walks with Samwise. We live three blocks from Alamo Square (where the “Full House” house is) and three blocks in another direction is “The Panhandle” which is a sliver of Golden Gate Park, full of trees and plenty of dogs to meet and greet. It’s just  a great dog-walking neighborhood. But in addition to that, the green spaces make it ideal for birds, so when I’m out in the morning, I get to hear them rise and shine with the sun. It’s another reason why I no longer walk with headphones or AirPods – I want to hear the life around me, not escape it.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

Now more than ever, I want to start each day fortified by the fact that the sun rose, the birds are still chirping, fresh air is filling my lungs, and Samwise is at my side, pulling me forward to greet another furry friend (and their human). 

Because it is a serious thing, being alive on a fresh morning in a broken world. It’s a serious and miraculous and truly amazing thing. 

Invitation by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time
       to linger
               for just a little while
                      out of your busy

and very important day
       for the goldfinches
               that have gathered
                      in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
       to see who can sing
               the highest note,
                      or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
       or the most tender?
               Their strong, blunt beaks
                      drink the air

as they strive
       melodiously
               not for your sake
                      and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
       but for sheer delight and gratitude—
               believe us, they say,
                      it is a serious thing

just to be alive
       on this fresh morning
               in the broken world.
                      I beg of you,

do not walk by
       without pausing
               to attend to this
                      rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.


Kate Holt