This came through my Substack feed. Quite remarkable.
In my High Sierra home I spend a lot of time outdoors with all the animals and in the midst of nature in general. I am no Thoreau, but I enjoy the entire relaxing experience.
I recall the time Vicki and I were sitting outside in the spring and we were discussing the passing of a classmate (we were in the same high school class). As we reflected and spoke reverently, a beautiful butterfly entered the scene and danced through the air around us. The gorgeous bug eventually “decided” to land on my shoulder, gently opening and closing its rather large wings in solemn repose. Our human conversation stopped. Our magical link to nature became real. Vicki took a picture and the butterfly accommodated our intrusion into its insect world for a few seconds. Then, if by an off-stage cue, it fluttered away.
Butterflies often symbolize transformation and the fleeting nature of life. Their short, delicate existence mirrors our own mortality: beauty, color, and movement for a brief span, then gone. In many cultures, they are seen as messengers between worlds — carrying the souls of the departed, or embodying the release of spirit after death.
Humans live longer than butterflies, but compared to the vast sweep of time, our lives are just as fragile. The butterfly reminds us that death is not just an end but a transition — from larva to chrysalis to winged flight, from body to spirit, from known to unknown.
Well, in this case, we in the business call it perfect “timing”.
And that is what James Lucas captured in this bird photo.
However, I cannot leave well enough alone. If I am to borrow the work of another artist (or of God, really) then I must add something to it. That is only equitable.
And so I give to you my alternate captions for this uncommon photo of a book and a bird:
”I wonder what kind of bird just landed on my bird manual?”
“Little known fact: the reader is also a taxidermist.”
“I believe I know where this photo was taken - or at least the general area.”
“When you get down to it, a thumb is a weird appendage.”
“Not all birds sing, but they make up for it with their stunning natural beauty.”
“If this one has gray flanks then he is my neighbor. Howdy, neighbor.”
“The bird’s call is ‘chick-zee-zee’. But I thought I heard ‘kirk-zee-zee’ where I live. It is a matter of interpretation.”
Thanks for reading.
Jim