Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

These three lines are from poet Mary Oliver, from a poem entitled Instructions for Living a Life. (I think I may adopt them as my new mantra.) Huge thanks to Stephanie Hunt, local writer and author of this Charleston Magazine article on Dewees Island, for introducing me to Mary Oliver, and to fellow Coastal Master Naturalist Nan Salas for bringing that particular poem to a meeting.

So I am working on paying attention: to the spring calls of birds recently arrived: purple martins, black-necked stilts, great crested flycatchers, orchard orioles, and painted buntings. Paying attention to the minute details of early wildflowers, of caterpillars eating leaves and butterflies enjoying nectar, to the intricate architecture of a spiderweb.

Paying attention to a retired elementary teacher’s tales of reconstructing rodent skeletons with her lucky students and pausing with her in surprise at the unexpected daylight call of a chuck-wills-widow.

Paying attention to the expertise of guest birders who could explain the differences in similar shorebirds in the shallows; who spotted birds I had never before seen on the island.

Paying attention to the cries of the young bald eagle on the osprey platform, to the startling of a great blue heron, to the vanishing blue tail of a five-lined skink as he slithers under a boardwalk, to the pink bellies of baby dolphins splashing in the inlet.

The astonishment is easy, here on Dewees.  I’m astonished by the sliver of sun emerging from clouds after days of rain and wind, by a cluster of baby alligators slipping soundlessly into the water, by the deliberate grace of a fishing egret, by the ability of water and wind to carve the shore. We have so much nature we can see with such little effort, when we just pay attention; and we are so quickly rewarded with that sense of awe that comes with watching some miracle unfold.