Yellow Bells and Birds
- navakallc
- Feb 2
- 2 min read
Just as humans take on the challenge and promise of the new year, so do birds, trying to find their comfort in the winter and starting the new year with a life afresh somewhere other than their own. Yes, I’m talking about migration. To escape from the cold from the areas they are originally from, tons of birds migrate towards the ponds and farms near Skagit Valley in Washington, where they stay over the winter before migrating back in the spring. Back in 7th grade, when school was still remote, one of the most favorite things to do for me and my parents was to drive down there and watch them as well as the daffodils that spring during this time as well.
Since winter is staying for a bit longer this year, the daffodils will spring in early March instead of late February before the first bulbs of tulips bloom in late April. It’s one of my most special memories, one that I cherish because of the amount of free time I had to get an extended car ride almost every two weeks. The birds all looked like a plethora of white among the long blades of grass besides the road. Their entire flock would be in the same area, giving us a view of a large extended white blanket distinctly moving on the grass.
One of the most special things was to see them fly. They all fly at the same time, one after the other, until the entire flock is up in the air, not too high, but near enough for us to identify their characteristics. It looks like a big magic carpet from the Disney movies, and their moves are synchronized. Not only that, they make a unanimous noise every time they are flying or about to fly. It sounds like seagulls cawing, me watching in awe as the strong winter breeze tousles my hair.
One of the things that makes this moment even more magical than it already is when they are flying over the daffodil fields. At sunset. That’s the most breathtaking view I’ve ever seen, as the white of the birds contrast with the sunshine yellow of the bell-shaped flowers, blending in with the orange sunset behind them. They are always planted at the best angle, right in front of the sunset, the wind brushing them into each other as if they are being coordinated in a symphony.
I can never forget those moments, the strength of the wind and the chill of the winter stunning me the first time I went. If we’re lucky, sometimes we get the feeble winter sunlight fighting its way through the clouds, enveloping us in its warmth before producing the best sunset among the clouds.