My New Sparrow (51)

I realized my lament was beginning to sound too much like complaining. "I'm over saturated," I said to one of my classmates. "I can't take in another new flower, can't enjoy this anymore." I'd already said this more than once. I couldn't handle this rapid moving from one wildflower to the next with no time in between to just be. And besides, I was feeling uncomfortable about all twenty-something of us waltzing off the trail and wandering through the desert wash. It felt wrong to me. So, I bid my fellow stragglers adieu and returned to the trail. I climbed up and over a tiny ridge nearby in search of my abandoned center, my sense of awe, my peace. I didn't go far. I only had a little water left, and I was tired. But I needed to feel the majesty of the place. I meandered along the trail for a few minutes. I saw another gorgeous Beavertail Cactus in bloom. I was hearing sweet birdsong, too, and finally got a good look at the singers.

They would dart about a bit, but then a bird would sit still, perched on one long, reaching woody stem not far from the trail. They had white lines at sharp angles above and below their eyes. I guessed they were a kind of sparrow, and I knew their markings were so dramatic and distinctive I'd have no trouble finding them in my California bird book when I returned to the car. (I was right. They were Black-throated Sparrows, and I had that lovely little thrill of having identified them on my own.) I stood in the middle of the trail looking and listening for a long time. I took in the stretch of the far valley and the distant mountains. I felt the sun on my back, heard the cars on the highway, saw two hikers make their slow way down a narrow, windy trail nearby. I listened to the sparrows, and I lost that harried edge. I loved watching them. Their whole bodies sang.

[Editor's note: I can't tell you who holds the copyright on this photo but I can point you to their webpage here: http://www.ownbyphotography.com/traveldiaryp37.html. It looks like the photographer has chronicled his or her travels and posted some lovely stuff! I am hoping they won't mind I've borrowed their image of my new sparrow.]