I’ve just noticed something about myself that I don’t like very well.
I’ve become more interested in birds in my later years, and that’s good, but I seem only to be interested in identifying the birds with bright colors–my favorite the goldfinch, and then orioles, jays, cardinals, and Western tanagers.
And, come to think of it, the bird population on my hill has changed in the past ten or twelve years. I used to see a lot of house-finches, a few white-crowned sparrows and an occasional rufous-sided towhee. I haven’t seen any of those birds in ages. The most common bird I see, I think must be the plain brown towhee. I haven’t even cared about identifying it exactly, because it is just a plain brown bird.
And that’s what I don’t like about myself. A plain brown bird certainly must have as much internal value as any bright showy bird. My reaction has made me think seriously about plain people, and the universal tendency to pay more attention and seem to give more value to an attractive physical appearance. It “ought not so to be.” I hope to avoid that kind of preference in the future.
By the way, there are some very small brown birds who are a lot of fun to watch. They are the bush tits, the little fellows with all their cousins who occasionally come and invade one of our bushes or small leafy trees. Well, they would be fun to watch and observe more closely if they would just sit still a minute.