What If?

 

vintage-1135015_640
pixabay graphic

Glory be. It’s a fine morning on the hill.  Bird chorus was a cacophony, and early. Sighted a Baltimore Oriole!  A flash of brilliant orange and there he was, singing in a meadow bush. On lifting from his perch, he flew straight toward me, veering off to land in the nearest oak.  Oh, my.

To enhance your birding experience, add some Alexander Technique thinking.  Begin by simply noting and observing your usual patterns of use.  Mine:  1.  In the excitement of a closer view, I plop the binocs right up against my face, blurring my vision.  2. In a mis-directed attempt to obtain the best look, I scrunch down into the binocs, often not noticing this until my neck begins to hurt.  3. Arms get pulled tightly in toward torso in an effort to keep the binocs steady.

Next, having observed Habits (patterns of Use), ask yourself the question,  ‘What if?’  ‘What if I didn’t ram the binocs against my face?’  The body’s inherent wisdom asserts itself when we get out of its way. We get to find out what the body would like to do instead.  Instead of plopping, ramming, scrunching, pulling, there is now the option of lightness, lengthening, widening; all choices that make for more comfortable birding in a happier body.

Feathering the Nest

spring-2098279_640
pheasant feather, pixabay

Stand in the middle of a hill meadow on a late April morning.  Clutch in your left hand a bag of feathers. With the right hand, hold high one of those feathers and wait.

The swallows will begin to notice you.  Heads will jut out from a few birdhouses and others will swoop around you with their liquid chittering.  Release the feather.  Watch as a swallow dives and angles and deftly maneuvers to catch the feather in its beak.  When this happens mere inches from your head, listen to the snap of its bill.  Say, ‘You are welcome,’ as the swallow flies directly to its box, disappearing inside.

Repeat.  Many times.  Those nests will be veritable featherbeds and your heart will be full.

Postscript:  This is the second April assisting the swallows in feathering their nests. At last year’s nesting season close, a swallow saw me standing on the back porch and flitted into his box, emerging with a single feather.  With it he flew straight to me, releasing the feather before my startled face.  I kid you not.  Befriend a bird today and prepare for wonder.

Standing Still

nature-1414838_640
thrush, photo courtesy of pixabay

With new walking poles in hand, I traipse through the pine woods on an enchanted April morning. Meandering over the animal trails, I eventually pause in a small forest opening, catching a glimpse of a thrush hiding in low branches, waiting me out.

How often do we get to be face-to-face with a bird? That’s what happened next.  He studied me carefully, decided I was no threat, and continued his routine, hopping along the pine needle carpet, his beady black eyes intent.

Let’s redefine what it might mean to stand still. When I’m teaching choristers, they are encouraged to observe the support of their feet.  From there, they can let the body move ever so slightly in a figure-eight pattern.  These micro-movements prevent fatigue and fainting, both a hazard for choral singers who often stand in place for long periods of time.

Standing still in this lively way brought so much more of the world to my notice.  On leaving the forest opening by the same path, I now saw spring beauties, the bleached jawbone of a woods creature, a wooly-worm, and heard a deer snort nearby.  None of these wonders were in my field of attention on arrival.

Whether bird watching, singing, or waiting in line at the grocery, remind yourself that standing still can bring the world to you, and does not require freezing in place. May a few moments of lively stillness be yours today—-

 

 

A Murmuration

 

sunset-69598_640

Saw one!  I had read about mumurations and longed to witness this natural wonder somewhere in my lifetime. Who knew that place would be the hill?

First, a definition.  A murmuration is a flock of birds flying together. Lots of birds.  The flock dips, turns, splits into smaller groups, then merges. The patterns formed in the sky are wave-like, spiral-shaped, and varied. How they do this is a great mystery, but ornithologist Claudio Carere of Rome, Italy suggests that in addition to acoustic and visual cues, a bird may even use the tactile sense of onrushing air from close neighbors to help guide its direction.

Thousands (Mike and I are guessing starlings) flew over the hill cabin as we stood on the west-facing porch last evening, jaws dropping in stunned silence as a wave of wings shimmered over our heads. The hairs on my arms lifted with the fly-by breeze.  We dashed through the cabin to the east-facing porch, where the show continued, the flock descending onto a fence row of trees.  The branches bent with the weight of bird bodies.

The wing-generated-breeze whooshing across my arms returned me to Wednesday afternoon’s Alexander Technique class. Students were invited to ask themselves two questions:

1.  What am I touching?

2.  Where am I breathing?

These simple questions, offered by on-line colleague and AT teacher Lauren Hill, are intended to return us to what Mr. Alexander called The Self, the integrated Mind/Body.

Check in with yourself now and then.  Notice what surfaces you are touching.  Where does your body move with an inhalation?   An exhalation?  Glory in your design, which permits you to experience the world via your senses.  Here’s to an alive day—–