My Bird Watcher

Some people capture memories with really nice cameras that have more buttons than my minivan. And those pictures are always awesome. Sharp, clear, bright, focused. I love looking at them. So keep on taking them. Just please don’t expect reciprocity from me on the picture-front. You see, even with a concerted effort and an iPhone 4, it just doesn’t work for me. Believe me, I have tried. Maybe one out of every 45 pictures I take has all three lilliputian children of mine in focus. And only one out of every 200 has all parties involved both smiling and in focus. 

blurry out of focus

Thus, I have reverted to capturing memories with words. Sure, they don’t pass down as well and are not able to pinned on your child’s “I Am a Shining Star” or “Student of the Week Poster,” which much to my chagrin are still very much in vogue and demanding actual photos (How dare these teachers?).

I know, I know.  A picture is worth a thousand words. But for my kids, a thousand words might just have to do. 

Phinny is in a precious stage of loving all things aviary (and by stage I mean, he has been this way as long as I can remember) . He is mesmerized by planes, buhs (Phin-speak for birds), butterflies, the moon, and the police helicopters that fly overhead all too often. Wanting to capture the wonder in his eyes and the excitement that jolts through his microscopic body like espresso jolts through my not-so-microscopic body, I wrote this poem prayer (If there is such a thing).

The Bird Watcher

 My little one, always looking up

With eyes so full of wonder.

The skies have a draw on you

That’s hard to pull asunder.


Every bird and every plane

Commands your tiny stare.

Your finger points so naturally

To all that magic in the air.


It matters not what’s afoot

Or what your hands may hold.

At first sight of noise above,

All other loves grow cold.


I love to watch you watching,

Lost in something so vast.

The expanse above so limitless,

Your saucer eyes aghast.


Avian architect, Master of the Sky,

Please capture his steady gaze.

Oh, keep him always looking up

To You in wonder all His days.


For what’s a bird compared to you

But a feathery messenger of a King;

May he be carried by their songs

To the One of whom they sing.

looking up pointing up


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