Odd Bird

The other evening I saw something I’d never seen before—a little secret that nature keeps.

As dusk was turning to night, I was driving down the gravel road to the Pole Cat Creek farm when I saw a reflection at the side of the road—the eye of some critter.

I wondered what critter was so small that its eye was only inches above the road, so I slowed Ol’ Blue to a crawl. In the headlights I saw a brown bird, so rough-looking that it could have been made of dry leaves. When it flew across my headlights’ beam. I knew exactly what it was.

I’ve often heard whippoorwills call at dusk at Pole Cat Creek. Their call is elusive, lonely, plaintive—the sound of country living. No other sound is quite like it. I’ve heard whippoorwills for years. I knew they were around, but I’d never seen a live one until the other night.

I suppose lots of things exist that we know are there, but we never see them unless we’re lucky.

Or we’re in the right place at the right time.