First Light

On the day of the solstice, the sun is just barely above the ridge across the valley, so the road is in shadow, and ice from a snowstorm more than a week ago still lingers. On my walk, the two Highland cattle watch me warily—or is it curiosity? When I observe them, I realize they exist in a totally different time frame than I do. They sit calmly for hours, and when they walk it’s slow and plodding, as if they have no particular place to go. I envy their lives, which moves at one one-hundredth of my speed. What do they see or feel that I don’t?

I follow their example and slow my walk, looking for any sign of life. Under ice and snow, I can hear the creek running. Soon I start to hear and see birds. A red-tailed hawk soars over my head, and two ravens perch in trees next to the road, calling to each other. I like to think they are keeping me company, but perhaps I’m just as much an amusement or distraction to them on this gray cold day.

I hear the familiar cry of chickadees and nuthatches, while pecking from the tree indicates a woodpecker is nearby. These are all familiar winter birds here, but the ponderosa pines around me are making strange ticking noises, and I see flashes of red and yellow, like exotic jungle birds could have landed in Meeker Park. Or maybe it just seems exotic because I never see red in winter except for the rosehip berries.

When I finally get my camera to zoom in on a bird, I’m delighted to identify red crossbills (left), a bird I rarely see here. Their crossed beaks, which allow them to bite into tightly closed pine cones, are something special. When they extract the seed, parts of the cone fall to the ground, accounting for the soft thuds I heard. I take their arrival as an early Christmas gift.  

The next morning I awake at 6, but sunrise is at least an hour away, so I must patiently wait for the sun to arrive. When it does it, it bursts onto the scene, ready to make a big statement. Its golden light floods the whole valley and illuminates each snowflake being blown down from Mount Meeker on this shortest day of the year. I watch the light hit the east side of the pine trees, which, like me, have been waiting all night for this one glorious moment.

Comments

[Julene Bair]

What a wonderful gift, the red crossbill. I wasn't familiar with the bird until now. Again, you remind me of the joys that follow on slowing down and paying attention.