Hello tweeters!

A bird in my yard this morning made me think of *Jurassic Park.*

The scene: the warden character is sharing his thoughts on the velociraptor
pack the park has bred. He's discussing how dangerous they are and how
they've been testing the electric fences for weaknesses. "They remember,"
he says to the newly arrived Sam Niel and Laura Dern characters. He then
describes what's it like to catch the gaze of the pack's leader.

"When she looks at you, you can tell she's working things out," he says.

I had this experience with a Steller's jay this morning. No, my life wasn't
in danger. And no, I had no fear of this crow-sized bird figuring a way
into my house and wreaking havoc.

Rather, it was a feeling of mutual knowledge; mutual acceptance of the
other that made me stop in my tracks. I had just refilled one of our
feeders with whole, un-shelled peanuts, which jays go mad for. As in, a
tray full of four or five handfuls of peanuts was empty in three hours,
thanks to two or three jays.

As I was walking back to the back door after refilling the feeder, I looked
up at the jay, just to watch it. I initially spooked it when I first came
out, but it didn't go far.

Now it sat only 15 or so feet above me in a tree, watching me. It knew what
I was doing, and that I was no threat. It cocked its head down specifically
to look at me, to meet my gaze. It knew where my eyes were and what it
means to look at another thinking creature.

I have no idea what it was thinking about me, but that's just it. It was
thinking about me. I could tell it was working things out.

Keep watching the skies,

Jeremy Schwartz
Lake Forest Park
jschwartz1124 at gmail for com