Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa
On Crossbills and Being…
No walk is ever the same. Anyone who walks with any regularity, especially if one’s route is often the same, knows that to be true. The act of walking is, in many respects, an odyssey of sorts. One hits the road for the exercise, but more importantly for the thrill of the journey, however short or long or arduous. No walk ends without one having experienced an unexpected insight or revelation of some sort. Or, perhaps something happens that triggers a new way of seeing things. That happened to me the other day after watching four red crossbills chatting with one another in the uppermost branches of a very tall tree.
