I peer through the viewfinder of my Nikon, my Sigma Contemporary 150-600 bringing the subject into focus.
"Oh, it's just a Carolina Wren."
I've said this countless times. You can substitute "Carolina Wren" for any other commoner:
"It's just a Cardinal."
"It's just a House Finch."
"It's just a Blue Jay."
"It's just a Goldfinch"
"It's just a Red-shouldered Hawk."
We're closing shop on peak fall migration and heading into cooler weather, and the menu of available birds has been seasonally rotated to offer many new species. Subsequently, I've expanded my definition of "just a bird":
"It's just a Magnolia Warbler."
"It's just a Yellow-rumped Warbler."
"It's just a Northern Flicker."
"It's just a White-crowned Sparrow."
"It's just a Ruby-crowned Kinglet."
HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I'll never forget the first time I saw an Indigo Bunting. A Prothonotary Warbler. A Red-tailed Hawk. These are birds I see almost daily when they're in season. They're practically mundane.
But when I first saw them, they were magical. The Indigo Bunting a brilliant blue radiance serenading from atop the tallest tickweed. The Prothonotary Warbler loudly "tsweet tsweet tsweet tsweeting" from a dead stand of trees, a bright yellow pop in an otherwise gray landscape. The Red-tailed Hawk majestically perched atop a church bell tower, surveying the roadside field below.
My wife recently bought me the book Slow Birding by Joan Strassman, and it's made me reconsider my words when I have a common bird at the long end of my lens.
There's no such thing as "just a bird."
Every species is magical. Every species holds a dear place in our memory and imagination. Every species behaves, feeds, sings, and courts in a unique and varied way.
Here's to slowing down, as Joan prescribes, and enjoying every bird. Even the ones we see every day. The more we watch, the more we notice, and the more we fall in love.