The Acrobat of the Prairie

A quiet encounter with a scissor-tailed flycatcher.

There are some birds you admire from a distance, and then there are birds that seem almost impossible to truly see. The scissor-tailed flycatcher belongs in that second category. Long before you notice the details of its soft gray feathers or the faint salmon color beneath its wings, you notice the movement. They dart through open fields like living streamers, twisting and turning in pursuit of insects with breathtaking speed and precision. Their signature tail feathers act almost like a rudder, allowing them to pivot sharply in midair before disappearing across the pasture once again.

For years, I’ve tried to photograph these incredible birds. Like many wildlife photographers know, admiration does not guarantee opportunity. Scissor-tailed flycatchers are constantly moving, naturally cautious around people, and surprisingly difficult to track through a lens. More often than not, my images ended in frustration — wings blurred, focus missed, or the bird gone before I could react. Sometimes nature seems determined to remind us that beauty is not always easily captured.

That is why this moment felt different.

I had been sitting quietly near the edge of a field, simply watching and waiting, when this flycatcher suddenly landed in a nearby tree. For just a few moments, the chaos stopped. The bird rested calmly among the branches while sunlight filtered through the green leaves around it. Its long tail hung beneath the limb like a ribbon, and the subtle colors that are so easy to miss in flight finally became visible. It was close enough for me to study the delicate feather patterns and appreciate the elegance of a creature I usually only experience as motion.

Wildlife photography often teaches patience more than photography itself. We spend hours preparing, traveling, waiting, and observing for moments that may only last seconds. But sometimes those brief encounters become gifts. Not because the image is technically perfect, but because the experience stays with you long after the shutter closes.

This photograph reminds me that nature does not slow down for us very often. Yet every now and then, if we are quiet enough and patient enough, we are invited into a fleeting moment of stillness. And when that happens, it feels less like taking a photograph and more like receiving one.

Monk Reflection

The older I get, the more I realize how much of life resembles this scissor-tailed flycatcher. We rush from place to place, constantly moving, constantly chasing the next responsibility, opportunity, or distraction. Rarely do we slow down long enough to truly rest. Rarely do we allow others to see beyond the motion.

Yet some of the most meaningful moments in life happen in stillness.

This flycatcher spent most of the morning racing across the fields, impossible to follow for more than a second or two. But the photograph only became possible when the bird finally paused and settled quietly into the tree above me. In that brief stillness, beauty that had been hidden in motion became visible.

I think people are much the same way.

When our lives are constantly filled with noise and activity, it becomes difficult to notice wonder, gratitude, or even the presence of God around us. But when we slow down — even briefly — we begin to see things differently. We notice light filtering through the leaves. We hear the wind. We recognize blessings that were there all along.

Nature has a way of reminding me that stillness is not weakness. Sometimes it is in the quiet moments that the deepest beauty is finally revealed.

— Wandering Monk Photos