A Hermit Thrush
A light misty rain was still falling when I got back to our own yard. As I walked past a dense bank of yaupon hollies along the sidewalk, a bird flushed up with a startled thudding of wings and perched on a branch of a Savannah holly tree. I lifted the binoculars, expecting to see a White-throated Sparrow, and instead the bright dark eye of a Hermit Thrush looked back at me.
It sat in full, open view, very close, watchful, but not moving much, except to flick its wings a little, and to slightly raise the cinnamon-colored tail and slowly lower it again. Several times it uttered a low, muffled chup, sometimes at the same time as it flicked its wings.
It was a jewel-like view of a shy, quiet bird that I love to watch but have seldom seen this winter. It stood erect, head held high and slightly turned toward me, the bill slightly tilted up. Its head and upper back were a fine, gray-brown, shading to more brown, then to reddish-brown in the wings and tail; dark spots on the upper breast and throat; and on the sides, in front of the wings, very fine spots that appeared to be covered lightly with a haze of silver-gray feathers; a thin white ring around a very dark and bright round eye. The tip of the thin, pointed bill was dark, and the legs looked dull pink. In such a close-up view, the fine patterns and textures in the feathers of the thrush showed up with unusual detail – especially delicate and varied on the face, throat, breast and sides. I could have stood there for a very long time, I think, following the intricate lines and shades and character in the feathers.
Instead, maybe I was being lazy, but my thought was that I didn’t want to bother the thrush too long or stress it any more than I already had. It was so close that I felt more invasive than usual, and to stand there and stare much longer would have felt unkind. I’d rather leave it alone and maybe it would stay around. So I went inside, happy enough to have seen it.