"Can You Spot the Cardinal?"

I would watch as my Father would gather his materials, slowly taking his time. Even though he only packed just two things. Each item of its own importance. Thick, black binoculars which hung loosely around his neck. Ancient and heavy as they were old. Passed down from his father, presently to him and eventually, future me. "North America Birding", read the title of his go-to book. Folded, cracked, bent but delicately handled. His own recollection on what we would spot that day, would be his notepad.

"Close your eyes," my father would whisper, as a tune escaped from the forest. As I closed my eyes, the melody of the song would flow hand-in-hand with the wind.

Repetitive.

Precise.

As other children my age were taking trips to Disneyland, New York and Canada, here I was in the woods with my father. I never realized how out of place my childhood sounded from the rest of my class until we did sharing time. I suppose I should have been embarrassed but there was none of that. Our clothes were dusted with dirt and mud from hiking. We would exam the formation and creation of birds nests, how ever so slightly they were one of the same - yet different. Identifying the coloration of the eggs which ranged from hues of baby blue to a light grey slate with black speckles. Unknowingly to me, each scouting grew our mutual excitement of seeing nature in motion.

Chimney Swifts, would glide around during twilight or after rain. Mockingbirds would chime for everyone to hear, almost gloating. Vibrant green would be spotted from time to time, followed by a loud crackle with indicated a wild Monk Parrot.

Warblers. Chickadees. Wrens. Hawks. Egrets. Herons. Flycatchers. Cardinals.. Wait.

"Cardinal?" I replied, hesitantly.

A bright red dot began darting back and forth above us. I had never gotten the pairing of bird with their sound before. I grinned, knowing in that moment I was correct. For the first time. I held in my excitement with all the energy I had, cautious, not to ruin the moment. My father, keeping his movement to a minimum, careful not to frighten off the cardinal as it finally perched on a limb, gazing down at us. He turned giving me the first of many goofy, thumbs-ups, he would do when I was correct. He granted his wish of gifting his ability to spot and identify birds to now, present me. I can close my eyes now, wherever I am at outside, blocking out all noise and focus on nothing but the tunes of the birds. 

Sparrows. Crows. Nighthawks. Owls. Painted buntings. Vireo. Falcons. Swallows.

And of course, Cardinals.