Man's field of vision embraces less
than half a circle horizontally, and still less vertically; his brow
and brain prevent him from seeing within many degrees of the zenith
without a movement of the head; the bird on the other hand, takes in
nearly the whole sphere at a glance.
I find I see almost without effort nearly every bird within sight in
the field or wood I pass through (a flit of the wing, a flirt of the
tail are enough, though the flickering leaves do all conspire to hide
them), and that with like ease the birds see me, though,
unquestionably, the chances are immensely in their favor. The eye sees
what it has the means of seeing, truly. You must have the bird in your
heart before you can find it in the bush. The eye must have purpose
and aim. No one ever yet found the walking fern who did not have the
walking fern in his mind. A person whose eye is full of Indian relics
picks them up in every field he walks through.
One season I was interested in the tree-frogs; especially the tiny
piper that one hears about the woods and brushy fields--the hyla of the
swamps become a denizen of the trees; I had never seen him in this new
role.
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