I spend a lot of time learning about bird watching.

When Nikki Giovanni said, “I spend a lot of time learning about bird watching,” her words were not only about a pastime, but about perception, patience, and the art of seeing life as it truly is. On the surface, it may seem simple — a poet watching birds. Yet in truth, she was speaking of something deeper: the sacred practice of observing beauty in motion, of understanding freedom without possession, and of learning from the quiet rhythms of nature. To watch birds is to study the poetry of existence itself — creatures who rise each dawn to sing, to soar, and to find their way home no matter how vast the sky becomes.

In the ancient sense, bird watching is an act of contemplation, not of conquest. It is the practice of being still enough for truth to come near. The hunter seeks to capture; the wise seek to understand. Giovanni, one of the great voices of modern poetry, reminds us that wisdom is not always gained through books or debate, but through stillness — through attention. The bird does not speak our language, but it teaches our spirit: patience, curiosity, and reverence. The one who watches without haste learns the eternal lesson of the natural world — that life reveals its secrets only to those who slow down long enough to listen.

Throughout history, poets, sages, and philosophers have sought meaning in the flight of birds. The ancient Greeks saw in them messages from the gods. The Egyptians believed the soul, upon death, took wing and rose like a bird to the heavens. The Native American elders regarded the eagle and the hawk as sacred messengers between earth and sky. In each of these traditions, to watch a bird was not mere leisure — it was a spiritual act, a way of aligning one’s vision with the vastness of creation. Giovanni’s devotion to learning about birds belongs to this same lineage — a modern echo of an ancient truth: that nature, when observed with humility, becomes a teacher of the soul.

To learn about birds is also to learn about freedom and resilience. A bird is both delicate and enduring. It faces storms, migrations, and hunger, yet it continues to sing. There is no guarantee of safety in its world, yet it still spreads its wings to the wind. Giovanni, who has long written about struggle, race, and the resilience of the human spirit, sees in birds a mirror of her own people — beings who have faced harsh seasons and yet continue to soar. Freedom, she reminds us, is not given; it is lived, embodied, reclaimed each day in the act of rising again.

Consider also the life of John James Audubon, who spent years traversing wild lands to study and paint the birds of America. He endured loneliness, poverty, and hardship, but his devotion gave the world a vision of beauty it had never known. Like Giovanni, he understood that to observe life deeply is to honor it. The act of watching is itself a form of love. It demands patience, humility, and attention — qualities that have grown rare in a world that prizes speed over depth. To spend one’s time learning the language of wings is to reclaim one’s humanity.

Giovanni’s quote carries another layer of wisdom: that learning never ends. Even in the simple art of bird watching, there is infinite depth. Every species, every song, every flight pattern opens a new page in the great book of life. The poet knows that understanding comes not from mastery, but from wonder — from recognizing that the more we learn, the more we realize how much remains unknown. In this, bird watching becomes a metaphor for the life of the mind and heart: we are forever students, observing, growing, expanding in awareness.

The lesson here is both gentle and profound. Be still enough to see. The world is filled with teachers — the trees, the rivers, the wind, and the birds above. When we watch without judgment, we remember that wisdom is not loud; it is silent, patient, and alive in every corner of existence. Giovanni’s words call us back to this sacred attentiveness — to learn not only from what we create, but from what already is.

So, to the listener and the seeker, the teaching is this: spend time watching your own skies. Look up from the noise of the world. Let the flight of a bird remind you that life, though fleeting, is beautiful; that freedom is both a right and a responsibility; that learning, like flight, has no end. For in every flutter of wings, there is a whisper of eternity — and in every moment of quiet observation, the soul rediscovers its place in the great, breathing harmony of creation.