Sensitivity

To a vision scientist like me, sensitivity is only a semi-abstract noun. If you look at the state or quality of being endowed with sensation; having perception through the senses, that’s measurable through scientific experimentation. However, the state or quality of being readily or excessively affected by external agencies or influences and having acute mental or emotional sensibility; aware of and responsive to the feelings of others is not as measurable and easily pained, annoyed, etc. is probably measurable per person, but not as scientifically, since we’re getting into moods.

I’ve always been highly sensitive, both emotionally and perceptually. I was told by my advanced biology teacher in high school that I should never have children if I was so sensitive to the smell in the room that I needed to leave. He sent me to the library, and I never had children. He must have had an amazing sixth sense. Now approaching the mid-century of life, I still have perfect vision, hearing, smell, taste, and touch: though my sensitivity to others and ideas of my sixth sense have diminished, for now, in exchange for contentment and sanity, I think. Which brings us to another definition of sensitivity: requiring tact or caution; delicate; touchy: a sensitive topic.

As for my images I like how my sensitivity made me think of anxiety and squiggly lines of too much, but when I looked at the images I saw another definition of sensitivity I enjoy which is: constructed to indicate, measure, or be affected by small amounts or changes~ as a balance or thermometer or microscope.

dVerse Poets Pub

For today’s poetics Ingrid brings corvids to spring. I am surrounded by raptors and corvids and find it fascinating that crows chase bald eagles around the sky. It’s the craziest bird behavior. One would think that eagles would just take out the crows, if they were a threat; the eagle could turn and destroy them: toss their nests, eat their eggs, or eat the crows. But from what I’ve seen, they don’t react much at all. However, this spring I’ve had two rather aggressive Blue Jays, and I am sensitive to their presence.

The Poem

Strike a Pose

So bold, look at you
in my morning window
blinds closed, I know you’re
there, when I let in the spring
sun your striking blue feathers
somehow bluer than the bluest
sky: not cerulean, not royal, but
playing in between, you contrast
with the giant pink blossoms of
the monster rhododendron
not a plant, not a flower, but
a life choice, and you have chosen
it, next to my bedroom window
with your deep, thoughtful,
striking pose, I can’t help
but admire your bold stare
and then you
SHRIEK
SCREAM
make unbird noises
not even the semi-annoying
CAW which is never at my window
but still loud from high above while
harassing an eagle and remind me
that you are the kind of bird
who raids other bird’s nests
and may decapitate other birds
Am I being sensitive to your
horrible sound, or would it
bother me so much if I didn’t
know you were a murderous
tyrant striking such a strong
contrast of black and blue