Author Jay Sturner

Brown Creeper  For those who seek their charm. And your day was going  only okay, as you expected it would stay. Then Brown Creeper came along— cryptic, petite— and spiraled, herky-jerky, up and around your fogged-up heart. And suddenly heart, and soul— both clear—were better than okay: They were realigned. Brown Creeper by Adam Wilson (From the book HEARTVINES )

This morning a Hermit Thrush returned to our yard for the season. I heard it— skreee! —as my son Garion set off on a mini-quest for rocks and acorns. A falling leaf—russet, corner-curled, emptied of summer's light—floated soundlessly over G's tiny shoulder. Hands in pockets, I stood listening to the harvest-time voice of my favorite bird, and watched as my son absorbed all the good of the world. And then it started to rain. Indoor creatures we became, once again: our human habitat within windows and walls, a cozy jungle of wired distractions. But with plenty of toys, books and music, too. More good things of the world! Outside I imagined the thrush flicking rain off its wings, its body perfumed by a northern forest of hemlock while engaged in a mini-quest for bugs and berries. Though shy, hidden, and non-existent to most, this feathered thing is no less important, or needed, in life. It, too, is part of all the good of the world. Something my little man will one day come to kno

Friends don't let friends drive... down Murica Road.

One time, at a red light, a dragonfly appeared in front of my windshield. For a few brief moments it lingered there, carrying sunlight on its back, before zipping away. Dragonfly by Dean Turley (From the book HEARTVINES )

In birding there are wonderful moments. They happen all the time. But sometimes there are multiple moments that accrete into a singular experience that defies words. “Magical,” perhaps? Cheese. But why bother searching for words where none are needed? Anyway, such an experience was had in Knoxville as I sat in my car at the end of a silent, forested road to listen for a whip-poor-will. It was just before dawn. And while I sat there, glancing at a dark blue sky bordered by black trees, I was lulled into a peaceful, almost dreamy state of mind. I was about to close my eyes when suddenly a pair of Barred Owls began conversing in the woods to my left. The exchange was brief, yet energetic. Owl romance? Maybe. But I won’t speculate as to what they were discussing; that is their business. For a time things were quiet again after the owls stopped vocalizing (with the exception of a cardinal, whose periodic yawning of a few notes sometimes broke the silence). And then, somet

I love when first-of-spring things mingle with last-of-winter things. This morning I’ve juncos, finches, and siskins zipping about the yard—birds of winter not quite ready to hit the breeding grounds. Beyond them, down in some wet spot in the woods, newly awakened chorus frogs cry out for mates. The mates will come, and an orgy will ensue—you can be sure of that. And then there are the less noticeable beauties (all around us, if we’re looking) such as this Brown-shaded Gray, watching from the back deck as I go about my morning. Soon this cryptic moth will flitter off to do whatever it is such quiet, mysterious things do (probably sleep on a tree somewhere, if I know anything at all) and I’ll be sorry to see him go. Thankfully he’ll return at dusk—along with the bats and Barred Owls—when he and others like him cling to the house like little impermanent ornaments to bask in the artificial light. Brown-shaded Gray by Ken Childs (From the book HEARTVINES )