Well here is my First Friday for January. It may be my last one for awhile as there is some other writing I’d like to do, and I started another project trying to compile information on the men from my home town killed in the Great War. I’d like to eventually expand it into some short biographies of them. But I digress. Here is my current entry for this Birding Fiction contest held at Wild Bird On the Fly.
THE BINOCULARS
Orange-crested Manakin! Spangled Cotinga! Golden-collared Toucanet! Spot-winged Antshrike! The guide called out species after species. Jess was struggling. The birds were 150 feet up in the canopy, moving in and out of leaves. She’d no sooner find one in her binoculars then it would slip behind foliage. She’d find it again to discover it was a different species and she’d start all over. This was harder than warblers in the fall.
It had been a glorious day! There were moments that would never leave her. Sitting in sunlight at a tree fall one of the myriad of Hermits flew up to her, mistaking her red bandanna for a flower. Inches from her, she could feel the wind from its wings. It was all she could do to keep herself still, to keep from reaching out to touch it. And walking back as dusk was settling in, she was startled to see large fireflies, blinking orange amongst the trees.
Ecuador was the trip of a lifetime; she had spent all her savings. It was worth it, the birds were marvelous, she’d spent hours watching leaf-cutter ants, and yesterday they had canoed past an anaconda, lazing on a sand bar. Tonight she was worn out, but she went out to write her journal before retiring to the stifling air under the mosquito net.
She sat at a table in the common area, quietly writing when she heard one of the couples talking. “That makes 45 today, I missed that Trogan though.” “I bet Jess didn’t see half of those, did you get a load of those ancient binoculars?” “My god, what clunky things. You think that if you spent all this money on a trip to the Amazon you’d loosen the purse strings enough to buy decent optics”.
Jess found herself at their door, knocking before she could stop herself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but hear you.” The couple looked at the floor, as Jess turned the binoculars over in her hands. “These were my grandfather’s binoculars. I saw my first bird through them, a White-throated Sparrow. Grandpa walked with me out to the woods and pointed at this little brown bird, sitting low in the brush. He gave me the binoculars from around his neck, I felt the weight of the strap against my neck as he whispered in my ear how I should keep looking at the bird and raise them to my eyes. It was magical! I could not believe how alive the bird was! The colours! The gentlest browns and greys, and that touch of yellow! Grandpa started me on a lifetime of loving birds and seeking their beauty. I know I could get better binoculars, and see clearer. But these binoculars let me see something that those never could. My past, and my grandfather’s hands as he gave these to me that day.”
As Jess turned to go, she never heard the words they said, she was listening to her grandfather’s voice.
Comments
3 responses
What a lovely story. Thank you.
Excellent!
Like Jess’s story, this too is magical.