A few years ago, I was sitting alone on a straw mat in the vast deserts of Lanzhou, China. The sand was smooth and calming against my palm but the wind scratched my cheeks mischievously. I was eagerly trying to conjure the final line of a poem as my ceramic of old tea was moments from fully evaporating. All of a sudden, from the depth of the lake blue sky emitted a majestic white bird, feathers rippling against the air pressure, before landing just 2 feet from my settlement. Its legs were an unusual olive yellow tinted with small gold plates. Its pearly white form shook off specs of landing debris as the talons found footing in the shifting sand. Its head rotated until our eyes snapped into alignment. My desert-smoked dark brown pupils against its cerulean spheres. After an eternal pause, its bronze beak dislodged and the final line of my poem was whispered to me.

That didn’t really happen - at least in this reality. Most of the bird interactions in my life were more along the lines of awkwardly staring at small scruffy city sparrows outside a coffee shop before they skittered uncomfortably close to my croissant. But, sometimes, when I’m out in a damp silent forest with a comfortable set of binoculars and a clear mind, and the sun’s light carves out the tiny chickadee cleaning its feathers between that branch and this leaf - for a brief few seconds - I do genuinely feel the above story.

The feeling is transient but immense. And my only instinct is to replicate it through repeated experience and creation. The latter will be organized within Observation Society and I hope it inspires others to notice and appreciate the immense beauty of the natural world, beyond and within.