this is broomsedge

the nature of knowing

The nature preserve near my apartment is known as a hotspot for wintering, migratory owls. Last year was the first time I saw them, the first time I looked for them really. They were so abundant that perhaps I became spoiled by my beginner’s luck because they are not so abundant this year.

My dad and I have attempted to go out to spot them several times this winter with no success. But despite our failure, it has been a grounding thing to be trudging around a square mile in the snow and mud together, contemplative, curious and accomplishing nothing. I share my observations, forget all the bird names he’s taught me and attempt to apply my limited ecological knowledge to our surroundings. I am almost always at least partially wrong or stumped by something incredibly obvious, and my dad corrects me. Just like every time I report that I’ve seen a peregrine falcon, he listens with his naturalist’s and ornithologist’s knowledge to my explanation and says simply “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like a peregrine falcon. It was probably [something else].”

But the fact that I am wrong doesn’t seem to matter very much. It feels outweighed by the impulse to enjoy the mundane phenomena of our local ecosystem, the attempt to know, and the bumbling process of integrating new knowledge. It has made me consider the nature of knowing and how— in this age of instantaneousness— to really get to know something, someone, someplace, what it truly takes is patience, foolish persistence and time.

this is broomsedge

one thing
i've grown to love
about winter

the meadow turns
the color of my hair

blonde
an ironic color of
sand and summer

a subtle wheat shade
washed in sunlight

the color of that thing
which so many economies
have risen and fallen on

that we are all
allergic to now

"this is broomsedge" 
i tell my dad

hmm, I think that is
little bluestem,
he says kindly

later on:
"this is broomsedge"

I think that's still bluestem,
he's a figure of patience
in a winter coat and knit black beanie

i look around at
the amber waves
"well some of this must be
broomsedge" i say
"I saw a post about it online."

look there, he says
he's looking up at the sky,
you can see Jupiter

"you mean that's not
an airplane?"

we're meant to be looking
for owls
and what we've found
is bunchgrass and
an entire planet