I came across a passage in the book I'm currently reading, A Year in the Maine Woods by Bernd Heinrich, which I found to be rather apropos to a post I made almost a year ago today. I read this passage and it made me think about how it expressed so eloquently the exact sentiments I had at this time last year as I was preparing for the year's field season:
"Each species [of birds] has its own song, sometimes several. To walk in the woods and not recognize the songs is to not hear them. To not think of the birds' uniquely beautiful and artfully concealed nests is to have the woods seem empty. Most of us are like sleepwalkers here, because we notice so little."
Read how my thoughts relate to this statement here.