HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – Tip 12

 TIP #12

Once in a while, look up.

You'd think this would be a no-brainer, wouldn't you? But, if you're at all like me, it's like breathing. You take it for granted; you forget that, occasionally, it needs your attention. Haven't you ever concentrated so much on something—you know, that body-and-soul concentration where you shut out everything around you?—that you realized you'd been forgetting to breathe?

PHOTO: Pixabay

Well, it's the same thing with looking up. We get so focused on what's right in front of our noses, or what's going on inside our heads, we forget that, of the 360-degree reach of our vision, about half of it—with all its wonders of wisp and wing, billow and beam—lies above eye level.

UP – 120 Degrees of Separation

It’s easy to think of discovery as something that happens at arm’s length. When I’m walking in the woods or on the beach, I tend to be looking close, looking down. Maybe I pick something up and look even closer.

Sure, I look around—at the path ahead, at other people, at animals on the ground or in the lowest branches of the trees. But raising my gaze more than 20 or 30 degrees above the horizon is something I have to keep reminding myself to do more often.

   What are we missing when we let the horizon, 
   like gravity, keep a tether on our awareness?

That incomprehensibly vast half-universe above holds enough beauty, enough wonder, enough elegant details to captivate any curious observer, even those of us who aren’t astronomers.

GIFTS FROM ABOVE
So what are we missing when we let the horizon, like gravity, keep a tether on our awareness?

Birds, clouds, tricks of light played by sun and atmosphere. Aircraft, from the loud and lumbering to that sleek one with a contrail whose faint roar comes from seven miles behind its image.

Treetops, alive with wild critters of all kinds…and perhaps the odd stranded cat. Fair skies splashed with the bright hues of our amusements: kites, model airplanes, balloons, some released to wind’s fancy.

        ...stuff we’ve cast off and the sky has 
        the good sense to throw right back at us.

Stars, comets, meteors and satellites, their pinholes and slashes in night’s black drape so sharp, so unchallenged, you can’t tell if they’re a couple hundred miles away or 23 quadrillion.*

Northern lights, among our planet’s most amazing and serenely beautiful events (and one consolation of living up here above the 45th parallel where earth’s magnetic field starts to weaken).

Stuff falling from on high, like raindrops, in all their manifestations from hovering mist to monsoon dollops; from feathery snowflakes to hailstones the size of baseballs. Soot and ash, and other stuff we’ve cast off and the sky has the good sense to throw right back at us.

What small wonders visit you 
when you remember to look up?

* Twenty-three quadrillion miles (4,000 light years) is the approximate distance of the farthest single star visible from earth 
with the naked eye.

TO THE SWIFT – Diving Denizen of Summer Skies

I’ll never forget when I first noticed chimney swifts.

It was the early 70’s. I was working for the Brattleboro Reformer in Brattleboro, Vermont. One summer evening, after meeting our 8:00 deadline, my co-worker, Ed, and I walked out the back door of the building toward his car.

The Reformer’s building, like most of those in these river towns, had turned its back on its river, the Connecticut. The stark alley where Ed and I stood chatting was mostly windowless brick walls, incinerators and dumpsters.

What a gorgeous evening, I thought. My eyes were drawn upward to the darkening indigo sky, a few gilded wisps of cloud…and something else. There were scores of squat little birds flitting around overhead, their staccato wing beats nearly in time with their excited chatter. Each bird’s random, sharply veering flight suggested they were probably snatching up flying insects.

I knew nothing about chimney swifts, but, for some reason, I just knew that’s what they were. Ed insisted they were bats, but I pointed out that their bodies had a distinct fat-cigar shape, that their wings looked smooth and slightly curved, and, though seldom, they occasionally coasted, which I didn’t think bats ever did. Also, these birds produced a constant, clicking chatter very different from the less frequent, higher-pitched twits of bats.

Like a cloud of smoke in reverse, they all plunged down a large brick chimney.

We watched the engaging performance for a few minutes and then, just as I was about to get into Ed’s car, I glanced up one last time. I noticed a subtle shift in the birds’ flight. At first, it just seemed like they weren’t quite as spread out. Then their random flight paths started falling into a broad, spiraling motion.

It all happened in about 15 or 20 seconds. The spiral wound tighter and tighter, and then, like a cloud of smoke in reverse, they all plunged down a large brick chimney…dare I say it, swiftly!

They’re so common, you might not even 

notice them.

That night, I looked up chimney swifts in my bird book, confirming that this was indeed what we’d seen. It said that, while the birds may roost in the hundreds or even thousands, they prefer nesting just one family to a chimney, air vent or hollow tree. Their numbers are falling, due, it’s thought, to a trend toward metal-lined chimneys. Swifts migrate to South America for the winter.

Chimney swifts are a part of the summer evening ambiance in towns and cities throughout the eastern two thirds of the United States. They’re so common, in fact, that you might just take them for granted, not even noticing them.

Now that you know how interesting they can be, see if you can find some, and then watch for a few minutes (your best chances will be just before dark). With patience, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to witness their amazing, synchronized chimney dives as I did that magical evening in Brattleboro.