How wonderful it is to not be bird watching in the Rainforest, trotting through its monstrous foliage and swatting its pestering mosquitoes. I much more enjoy my cozy backyard where I am aware of all happenings and sure of every corner. The wind blows against the one moldy feeder hanging from its post. There are no Chickahoota’s or Yellow-spotted Banbur’s to listen for, nor are there any rare Orange-crowned Frigate birds to sentence to my bird life list of black and white. No reason to grab my binoculars, spot a flittering ball of yellow feathers, and listen to its angelic melody. Why go hunting for adventure when I can lounge on the porch and observe the Common Grackle, as it “clicks” and “screaks” in its metallic chatter? No need for a tour guide to introduce me to the four story old-growth cedars scraping the misty blue, or those neon blossoms that dripped from the rainbow overhead. Rather than flipping through pages and pages of colorful bird guides without a clue to what I see, I will stare through the window screen, watching the one tree in the yard taller than I, wondering what will land next. And once it does, without hesitation, I will identify it as a house sparrow for the third time today. I will not wonder what it will do next, as it pointlessly pecks at the ground searching for any scraps fallen from the above feeder. It is adequate enough to observe the sparrow’s mundane display of activity and pretend as though my craving for adventure is satisfied. And I will continue to look outside, at the brown bird on the tan grass and tall fences that barely stretch to the concrete road, never leading to any rain forests, but only to the grey woods.