I suppose it’s mostly folklore and misinformation that has given crows a reputation of being a little creepy, a little other. Some say it feels like they are watching us — and studies have found that this part may be actually true, but not with a malicious nature, rather actual curiosity. Crows are very intelligent. They are able to use tools and reason. This “watching” is because they are learning. (We should never be afraid of others learning.)
True intelligence does not fear it in others, but embraces it. Joins in. Hops on. I know I’m barely more than air, but I’d like to think I am that sparrow.
Some things you simply know, even before Google confirms it.
I love birds. I love Sparrows. I guess because they’ve always just been around. Maybe it was that assurance I gravitated toward — before, during, after the storm, they were constant. Like my grandparents. Like my mother.
They pop up in my sketchbook consistently. Almost knowing when I need them most — when I need that blessed assurance. Yesterday one arrived atop my image of our coffee pot. A reminder, I suppose, that just as certain as the coffee I brew each morning. Love wafts on the scent of it throughout our home.
I googled them after breakfast — the sparrows. This is what it said — “They are creatures of quiet resilience, navigating storms, finding shelter where there is none, and moving forward even when the winds push them back.” Isn’t that the way that I, we, could begin each day, with this quiet resilience… There’s coffee on the table, and kindness in the air.
I don’t know that one stick is more inspiring than the next, but then again, I don’t know that it isn’t. So I took great care in my choices, as I Magpied my way through the unexpected pile of discarded wood at the edge of the forest. Forever being in need of wood, this felt like a gift just for me. I wandered back home with my arms full. Smiling. Humming. Perhaps the song is correct, “His eye is on the sparrow…”
I suppose it is a bit like nesting, this building of a panel. Creating a home for the next painted creation. I dried the dew-dampened wood. Sanded. And sanded again. Measured. Cut. Glued. Nailed. Sanded, again, until this “nest” was ready for the life to be held. She doesn’t know yet, the woman coming to life in this painting. Maybe none of us do. We only wait for the final results. But there is so much beauty in the wonder. The wander. The time of being Sparrow.
I have to constantly remind myself. To not miss it. To not waste this day. The walk alone. The discovery. The hope in each discard path. The hum that carries us. It is all a part of this beautiful journey. Because it’s never just about the bird, but it’s always about the song.
