Tag: headphones

june 18/RUN

4.2 miles
minnehaha falls and back
72 degrees
dew point: 63

Went to bed early (before 10!) with the hopes of getting up early and running before it was too warm. Woke up at 7:30 and didn’t start running until almost 9. It was hot! Still, I did my 9/1, with only one extra break. A small victory: I didn’t fall apart after the extra break, even though I thought I might. I got right back on track and ran the rest until I reached 9 minutes. Wore my compression socks again today — they make a big difference.

10 Things

  1. a broken fence rail — I have been calling the wooden fence a split rail, but is it? It’s not a picket fence. It is 2 horizontal wooden slats, painted brown. Looked it up — ranch?*
  2. yellow caution tape blocking off the new trail-in-progress just past the double bridge
  3. someone at the playground, pushing their bike through the mulch or pebbles or whatever’s in the playground pit, making a scraping noise
  4. 2 people on the bridge overlooking the falls, holding a giant selfie stick
  5. the dirt trail leading into the woods near ford bridge, looking dark and mysterious and inviting
  6. the rush of the creek and the falls
  7. someone sitting at the bench above the edge of the world
  8. a voice below, on the winchell trail, commanding (or scolding) a dog
  9. a dozen roller skiers on the trail
  10. the coxswain’s voice below — rowers!

*Looked up what type of fencing Minneapolis Parks uses and found this in their latest planning proposal:

Fencing and Guardrails

  • Locate fencing and guardrails to protect park users from injury near steep bluffs, drop-offs along trails, overlooks, boardwalks, and bridges. They can also be used to protect pedestrians and bicyclists from conflicts with motor vehicles in certain situations.
  • Fencing and guardrail design and materials should be consistent throughout the park to convey a strong sense of park identity and character.
  • Fencing materials and design in high use areas such as along the parkways, urban parks, and other highly visible areas should be more formal. The existing black metal picket fencing along many portions of the park is a good example of this type of character.
  • Fencing in less formal and natural areas, such as along the Winchell
  • Trail, should use less formal fencing and guardrail materials and design character. Here, timber and chain link fencing may be more appropriate.
  • All proposed fencing and guardrails shall meet MPRB standards.

converting notes into poetry

Yesterday, during my On This Day practice, I came across a line from Dan Beachy-Quick that led me from his poem, This Nest, Swift Passerine, to Dorothy Wordsworth’s journal, which her brother, William Wadsworth, used in his poetry. I recall encountering D Wordsworth’s journal then, in 2023, and thinking I’d like to read more of it, but I was busy with some other project. Maybe I put it on my epic “To Do” list that I rarely return to.

I wanted to read more of DW’s journal because I’m fascinated by how writers might use their journals and observing-while-moving notes in their poetry.

I’m also thinking about how poets incorporate research into their poetry. Read this morning, in an interview with Kristin Dykstra, about her new poetry collection, Dissonance:

I’ve been interested in contemporary works that explore the use of research, which takes us outside our own individual points of view on the world. In creative works encompassing research, there’s a fundamental tension between one’s own perspectives and what we learn to see through other people.

Lines that Linger

In the amazing poem, “Lake Superior,” Lorine Niedecker condenses her 100+ pages of typed notes into a few dozen stanzas.

A few days ago, I read Kaveh Akbar’s “Love Poem with Tumor and Petrified Dog” and was delighted by how he incorporated “facts” about Pompeii into his poem.

I’d like to experiment with different ways to take my notes and research on the cultural and geological history of the gorge and put them into poems/creative writing. The wilder, stranger experiment, the better!

a few hours later: Rereading this last paragraph, I suddenly thought of Mathias Svalina’s Surreal Zillow tours, which I read about last November.

Here’s how the tours work (from my log entry, 18 nov 2024):

You show up at the appropriate time and place and look for a man with a bullhorn. “Because I’m a man who owns a bullhorn now,” Svalina says. “[Then] I’ll point to buildings and lie about them for 90 minutes.”

and part of its purpose:

“I’m particularly interested in civic history because of the ways that cities use, rewrite, and often weaponize their histories as promotional agents, or as ways of ignoring populations,” he explains. “So, I like the idea of inventing histories that could not have ever existed.”

I’m not interested in making up or twisting my research, but this popped into my head, and I wanted to remember it here.

soft vision

Just started listening to the novel, Havoc, which I’m really enjoying. The main character is an octogenarian living in a grand hotel during the pandemic in Cairo and causing chaos with her desire to “help” others. Early on, she describes the faded beauty of a grand hotel:

A bit of advice: if you fear mice, don’t peer too closely into the corners. I suggest walking around the hotel in a happy, glaucomal squint.

Havoc/ Christopher Bollen

june 17/RUNBIKESWIMBIKE

4 miles
river road, north/river road, south
67 degrees / dew point: 63

Started my run at 8:30, which was too late for how warm and humid it is. Even so, I felt strong and relaxed and confident that I could stick to my 9/1 plan and I did. As the runs get longer, I’m going to need to get up earlier. Chanted in triple berries — strawberry/blueberry/raspberry — then in other favorite triples — mystery history — then in triples that describe the world around me — worn dirt trail / old oak tree / cloaked green view / rushing cars

10 Things

  1. at least 2 roller skiers standing at the top of the franklin hill
  2. voices below — rowers!
  3. 2 minneapolis park trucks on the path, both hauling riding lawn mowers
  4. Mr. Morning!
  5. a big branch loaded with green leaves on the ground near the welcoming oaks, blocking a small section of the path
  6. 2 or 3 stones stacked on the ancient boulder
  7. the sliding bench was empty
  8. encountering Max, a big and gentle German Shepherd
  9. a mini-peloton on the road — a dozen or so bikes
  10. an older runner in bright orange compression socks standing in the middle of the walking path, gathering himself

I don’t remember thinking about much as I ran, other than that it was hot and that I knew I could keep going.

Yesterday, during my vision assessment, I mentioned reading about a way of training the eyes so that they could see outside of your blind spots. It was in a book by a famous author, but I couldn’t recall who. I knew they were from the 1900s and that they were male and I thought they were a philosopher, but I was drawing a blank on the name. At some point during the appointment, I was convinced it was Henry James. I was wrong. I looked it up today: Aldous Huxley and his book, The Art of Seeing. I wrote about it in this long on 13 sept 2020, including this quote from Huxley in the introduction:

Ever since ophthalmology became a science, its practitioners have been obsessively preoccupied with only one aspect of the total, complex process of seeing—the physiological. They have paid attention exclusively to eyes, not at all to the mind which makes use of the eyes to see with.

The Art of Seeing/ Aldous Huxley

How true is this assessment in 2025? Well, the study I am hopefully participating in is a collaboration between Ophthalmology and psychology at the U of M.

In the process of searching for the Huxley reference, I came across an article about low vision and reading. The specific ways that reading is difficult for me are different than this author, but the strange, and sometimes frustrating, sometimes delightful ways it (doesn’t) work resonate:

I try to figure out how apples connect to the topic, and how a noun just there might fit into the sentence, then give up and go back, to see the “i” that I missed when I first read “applies.” All those mistakes don’t happen at once. When my splotchy vision is not making me fail to grasp the point of an essay or fail to see the word “salt” in a recipe, it keeps me amused, keeps me aware of language itself. Who knew that “apples” is only one letter different from “applies”? Who could regret noticing that? 

As My Vision Deteriorates, Every Word Counts/ Alice Mattison

Reading more of the article, I find that her perspective on audiobooks resonates less:

Listening to an audiobook, I wouldn’t hear punctuation. True, an actor could produce the pauses, hesitations, and buildup that punctuation merely signals. But I like punctuation. I wouldn’t know whether the author had chosen a period or a semi-colon for the end of that main clause, wouldn’t know about em dashes, colons, parentheses, ellipses. Audiobooks are mediated. Another person would be present as I read. Worse, that person would have interpretive power, power over speed. Audiobooks happen in time, not space, like music or dance. Performance is indispensable but it isn’t the same as reading. 

My first reaction was to disagree with this assessment, but it has me thinking more about the idea of an audiobook as performance. I like listening to a good audiobook actor. And I love listening to an author who can read their own book well, like Zadie Smith. So what? Does that mean I’m not reading, and do we need to gatekeep what reading is? Now I’m wondering: what is reading?

Some thoughts about punctuation:

  • As I memorize poetry, I often struggle to write it down again later; I often mess up the punctuation. I memorize words, but rarely semi-colons or em dashes.
  • In Lucille Clifton’s rules for writing poetry, she suggests that a poet should write their lines in such a way that punctuation is never necessary — not sure where I stand on this
  • Isn’t the writer’s choice of punctuation a sort of mediation between reader and word?

bike: 8.7 miles
lake nokomis and back
78 degrees

Hooray for no problems on the bike! I could see well enough and I didn’t have to do any awkward passing. My left knee was a little stiff at the end, like it was 2 summers ago, but otherwise it was good. I liked biking to the lake before my swim, and biking back home after. Some things I remember: a line-up of traffic near the falls; kids playing in the creek; the pleasing curve of the new bike trail at lake hiawatha; the rush of water gushing out of the sewer pipe and into the ravine at 42nd; a surrey slightly off course; the bouncy stride of a runner.

swim: 2 loops
lake nokomis open swim
79 degrees

Open swim! A wonderful night for a swim. Not much wind, hardly any waves. I would have liked to do more than 2 loops but I didn’t want to push it and have a sore shoulder again. No problems going off course even though I could barely see the buoys. So little data, so much trust and belief in my ability to swim straight!

10 Things

  1. put my bag down under the lifeguard stand, next to some kid’s swim trunks that were swarming with gnats (gross!)
  2. milfoil reaching up from the bottom, thick and pale orange until it faded into the dark blue-green water
  3. cold water with pockets of warmer water
  4. baby bros (15 or 16? year-olds) playing football in the shallow water, cheering every time someone caught a pass or missed a pass
  5. the legs of another swimmer doing breaststroke, looking pale underwater
  6. bubbles! the translucent, almost white ones, that remind me of the bubbles in scooby doo
  7. my sparkle friends! the small glittering particles floating in the water
  8. open swim was set up a full 15 minutes early! the lifeguards have their shit together again this year
  9. the familiar form of the beach house dome, viewed mid-lake
  10. calling out to another swimmer — have fun! / you too!

A great swim. No deep thoughts or reciting water poems or noticing sounds or clouds or planes. As I get more fit, and spend more time in the water, these things will happen.

june 14/RUN

6.1 miles
flats and back
55 degrees
drizzle

10 Things

  1. boom! crash! construction noises above me as I ran under the I-94 bridge
  2. voices cheering below, near the rowing club
  3. a soft mist
  4. beep beep beep — far ahead of me
  5. a chair set up behind a column at the base of the lake street bridge
  6. 2 people fishing in the flats
  7. the limestone slabs that were stacked in a way that looked like a person have been removed
  8. a pink and white kid’s bike propped up against the bottom of the franklin bridge
  9. an orange cone tucked into the bushes, mostly hidden from view
  10. water gushing out of the limestone in the flats

A great run! A steady 9/1, even up the franklin hill. A big mental victory! An average heart rate of 157. A big physical victory, too!

Returned from the run to get shocking news from Scott. Somebody impersonated a police officer then shot and killed the head of the Minnesota DFL and her husband in the early morning in their home. He shot another senator too and has not yet been caught. There’s a manhunt and a shelter in place for Brooklyn Park. Police are asking that people don’t attend the No Kings protest today or open their doors to any police officers.

june 10/RUNSWIM

4.5 miles
veterans home
59 degrees
poor air quality

The smoke from Canadian wild fires didn’t bother me much, although the inside of my nose was coated with something which made breathing a little more difficult. Other than that, it was a nice morning for a run. More shade than sun, low wind. Another 9/1 success. I’m continuing to build up the mental strength — a belief that I can keep going. Chanting in triple berries helped: strawberry raspberry blueberry.

Yesterday I mentioned possibly focusing on benches as a monthly theme — or a 1 or 2 week theme? As I ran south, I made note of a few of the benches.

9 Benches

  1. near the worn wooden steps leading to the winchell trail — wooden slats — empty
  2. at the top of a mulched trail descending into the oak savanna — a worn boulder that looks and acts as a bench — someone was standing there today, writing something on a piece of paper
  3. above the 38th street steps — wooden slats — empty
  4. beside a boulder in a part of the walking path that splits from the bike path — wooden slats — empty
  5. in a patch of grass above the “edge of the world” — wooden slats — empty
  6. on the edge of the 44th street parking lot — wooden slats — occupied by a bike/biker
  7. near John Stevens house and a cluster of picnic tables — wooden slats — empty
  8. at the bus stop across from the veterans home — green metal back/wooden slat seat — empty
  9. above the locks and dam no. 1 — green metal back/wooden slat seat — empty

Other things noticed: 4 or 5 turkeys in the grassy boulevard, a group of 8-10 roller skiers, the roar of the falls through the trees, a human with 2 dogs trotting to the creek bank, the light rail horn blasting a warning, the sweet/sour smell of earth on the hill descending below the ford bridge, headlights from a bobcat below me in the woods — I think they’re building a new walking path that goes deeper into the gorge!

For the first 3 miles, I listened to voices and wheels and the echo of a dog’s bark. For the last 1.5 miles, my color playlist.

still life

In the middle of the night, during one of several bouts of restlessness, I started reading a book I got from the library: Still Life/ Jay Hopler. Why did I request this book? It must have been because of the title and my interest in the word, still, and still life paintings. Reading more about it, I discovered this:

When Jay Hopler was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer and told he only had two years left to live, he chose to spend his time writing this book: a rare gift to our world in all its ways. The book seems to be both a representation of all the moving parts of the dying, as well as an antithesis to how we usually converse about death, namely a dying person.

Still Life review

still life w/ wet gems/ Jay Hopler

lightnings bang their jaggeds on the cloud-glower
the cloud-glower is a broken necklace spilling its wet gems
its wet gems w/ facets cut uncountable
uncountable the reflections of the world in those gems
uncountable the version of the world into its dry self crashing
the shards of those worlds like shrapnel blasting skyward
slicing skyward or sidewise through the dune grass
the dune grass flattened by that splatter even as i write
the words

To My Wife on Our Anniversary/ Jay Hopler

In Castiglione del Lago, the pines are iron-spined. When the wind
blows, they stand still & the earth sways. If only God had forged me thus!
Forced into a stooped form & told to straighten up, that’s as far as His
blessings ever extended in my direction. You know what keeps me from
falling apart? Luck & duct tape. Even so, those trees have nothing on me.
Blessed as they are, all they get to hold today is a sick man’s attention &,
maybe, a few birds.

After reading still life w/ wet gems last night, I thought about my “how I see” project and the idea of writing around landscape and still life paintings — maybe portraits, too?

swim: 2 loops
lake nokomis open swim
81 degrees
water temp: 68 degrees

Open swim! Open swim! Open swim! There aren’t enough exclamation points to convey my joy over another summer of swimming across the lake. I swam 2 loops without stopping at the beach in-between. It felt good and then it didn’t and then it did again. Sore arms, the strange feeling of muscles not worked for a year waking up again. Now, a warm buzz. With no access to a pool, I haven’t swum since last august, so I’m impressed that I did as much as I did. I didn’t worry about not seeing the buoys, even when I couldn’t. Just kept swimming and reached them. Hooray for swimming without seeing (much)! Hooray for Minneapolis Parks for keeping open swim the same! Hooray for my muscles and tendons and lungs enabling me to do this thing I love!

The water was a deep green-blue. I could see the milfoil reaching up from the bottom, looking ghostly. Also saw pale legs kicking in front of me. No fish, no dragonflies, no menacing swans.

june 7/RUN

3 miles
trestle turn around
70 degrees

Wow, summer! Sunny, not too warm. Strong legs, mental toughness. A good morning to be outside and moving. Heard the rowers and a roller skier, someone blasting an old rock song — what was it? I remember identifying it and thinking that I needed to try and remember the title, but now I can’t. Encountered lots of bikers and walkers and runners, but no turkeys or squirrels or lunging dogs.

10 Things

  1. siren
  2. coxswain
  3. hearing the glittering of trees
  4. click (ity clack)
  5. bugs
  6. headphone fail
  7. pack(ed)
  8. radio
  9. fragment (overheard)
  10. concealed

A police siren that I thought was a loon, the coxswain’s voice calling out instructions, a breeze passing through the leaves and hearing the glittering of trees. The click of roller skier’s poles striking the ground, an itchy bite from a bug. Turning on my “Doin’ Time” playlist, expecting to hear the music in my ears, instead hearing it all around — a headphone fail. Someone blasting music from a radio. A fragment of a conversation overheard, the words now forgotten. The river, the rowers, the ground below, concealed by a wall of green.

Walking back, after I was done, I heard a Dad reading to his son about a baby bird in a tree. Very sweet. It almost sounded like, are you my mother? Was it?

Finished reading through Hardly Creatures for the first — but not the last — time. Their playing around with what access means is fascinating. I’m thinking about my ekphrastic/alt-text project and how access might work in it. In my next read through of the book, I’ll think about access and what it means to me and take notes on the different ways Colgate practices/invokes/addresses it.

june 4/RUN

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
67 degrees

Another successful 9/1 run, where success = picking something and committing to it and keeping steady and relaxed. Yesterday it rained most of the day, so no running. Evn if it hadn’t been raining, I wouldn’t/couldn’t have fun; smoke from the Canadian wild fires made the air quality terrible. Not just hazy; I could smell/feel the smoke. Today it’s much better.

9 Things

  1. mowing
  2. sweating
  3. bugs
  4. shadows
  5. voices
  6. laughter
  7. crowds
  8. cars
  9. potholes

I tried something new today with the 10 things. At the end of my run, I pulled out my phone and recorded a list of things. I ended up with nine because I forgot to count as I was doing it. By the end, I wasn’t sure of how many things I had listed.

On Monday, we moved RJP into her new apartment. She handled the stress of moving very well. What a difference a year makes!

Here’s another bit from Brian Teare’s Companion Grasses I’d like to remember:

from Tall Flatsedge Notebook/ Brian Teare

A guidebook calls it “tall Flatsedge” but at my desk
it doesn’t stick : each sketched notebook detail floats
slowly from what once had make it live. At its smallest
:matter has no ideals” : taking off my socks, I find
several flatsedge seeds hooked : no split of self
from self—it can’t lack—carbon, oxygen, nitrogen—
it’s being & being singly is. All day at Chimney Rock
I’d returned to three thoughts :

you; the “world

we wanted to go out into,
to come to ourselves into”;

& the right form
to bridge two subjects apart

“organizations in the sound of them
verg[e] upon meaning,
upon ‘Heaven;”

As part of this section, Teare includes sources for these ideas in the left margins. I fiddled around with columns to add them in, but I wasn’t able to. Maggie Nelson did a similar thing with sources in The Argonauts. And Alice Oswald does it in Dart to identify the “voice” that is speaking in the poem. I’d like to experiment with this in a piece involving my notes for a gorge run.

I also like his discussion of bridging the gap between two subjects — you and the world. Here I’m thinking of the you and the I, too.

may 31/RUN

3.5 miles
top of wabun hill and back
67 degrees

Hot! Sunny! It’s summer. Another successful 9 min run/1 min walk session. Building up discipline. I wasn’t sure what my route would be; I just went where my feet lead me, which was halfway down the hill at Locks and Dam no. 1, then all the way up the hill to Wabun park. At the top, I turned around and descended to the parking lot, then to the river road trail heading north.

10 Things

  1. goose
  2. beard
  3. sliver
  4. hiking poles
  5. twang
  6. braid
  7. bench
  8. LOUD!
  9. trail
  10. chartreuse

A honk, then a big shadow on the path in front of me. A goose flying overhead!

At the top of the Wabun hill, a guy in a wheelchair, at an angle, looking down at the river. His white beard glowed in the sunlight.

Remembered to look for the river. Only saw a sliver of it through the tree.

Running up the hill at the locks and dam, passing by 2 people powering up the hill, using hiking poles.

A car — or was it a bike? — blasting country music. Not sure who or what it was. All I could hear was twang.

Approaching then passing another runner from behind, noticing her long, white braid. I couldn’t quite hear, but I think she called out, good job!

A bench facing a wall of green. Someone was sitting on it, taking in the green view.

A mini peloton of 30 or so riders on the road. Their whirring wheels were so LOUD!

Running down the short stretch of the path that dips below the road, I noticed a steep trail descending to the river. I’d like to take it some day.

Seen on the wabun hill: a walker wearing chartreuse shorts.

I did it. I struggled to come up with 10 things. Maybe because it was a shorter run or because I was hot or because not much was happening on the trail this morning. No — not that last one. There’s always something happening on or near the trail!

may 29/RUN

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
62 degrees

Another 9 min run/ 1 min walk day. Ran a little faster, felt a little bit easier. Not easy, but easier. A small victory. I’d like to continue stacking these small victories to draw on when the runs get harder and longer this summer.

Walking before my run, I was passed by someone walking a lot faster than me. I marveled at how quickly she was almost out of sight then wondered if I would pass her again when I started running. I did, and felt slightly smug about it. Walking after my run, I encountered a turkey. I think it’s the same one from yesterday that was staring at a neighbor’s garage. I enjoyed watching the turkey’s small head bobbing awkwardly.

I’m close to finishing my collection of color poems! I’m also working on a submission for a special issue on blurred genre pieces. I had a thought during my run: submit my mood ring poem, Incurable, and include a how-to guide + an image of my blind spot + a few notes about the process.

update, 14 jan 2025: I did submit it, and it was published, here!

Listened to the zipper on my running belt softly hitting my shirt with each step as I ran south. Put in my “It’s Windy” playlist — because it’s windy today! — as I ran north.

may 28/RUN

4 miles
past the trestle turn around
62 degrees / drizzle

Drizzle. Refreshing. All around, dark green, deep brown, gray. The sky was a pale blue, and so was the river. I decided to be disciplined today: 9 minutes of walking, 1 minute of running until I reached 4 miles. I did it. Not easy, but not difficult or, was it both easy and difficult?Walking to the river, I saw something strange by a neighbor’s garage. I looked again — a turkey! Staring at the wall, making a noise, not quite a gobble.

I’m thinking about yellow today. Running north, I started chanting:

yellow is
yellow is
yellow is
is yellow
is yellow
is yellow

Did I see anything yellow? The dotted, dividing lines on the bike path — if you count that as yellow. Scott calls that orange. No yellow flowers or yellow signs or bright yellow shirts. The only color I remember noticing was the bright blue of the recycling bin on the trail.

may 26/RUN

4.6 miles
veterans home
63 degrees

Ran to the falls. Every day, my legs are feeling stronger. Will I be ready to run almost 8 miles next week? Yes! I listened to all the walkers and bikers and roller skiers and runners out by the gorge as I ran south, my “color” playlist as I ran north. I stopped a few times to record some ideas about my blue poem. Yesterday was indigo, today it’s blue.

10 Things

  1. roots
  2. sky
  3. roar
  4. flags
  5. voices
  6. bikers
  7. Sawyer
  8. horns
  9. picnic
  10. honks

Near the end of my run, I ran on the grassy boulevard between the river road and edmund. There were a lot of them, but I managed to not trip over any of the roots popping out of the dry dirt.

The sky was a cloudless blue, sometimes bright, sometimes pale.

At the park, I didn’t run near the falls, but I could still hear its roar as it rushed over the edge.

Memorial Day. At the Veterans home, the road was lined with flags.

Crossing over the creek on the high bridge, I could hear kids’ voices below, laughing and calling out to each other. I couldn’t hear any splashing, but I could tell by their tone that they were in the water.

The path was thick with fast moving bikers.

No — Sawyer — no! Two adults called out to their toddler when he tried to follow me as I ran by.

Running down the steep hill near locks and dam no. 1, I heard horns on the ford bridge. Was it in support of memorial day? Against a war or a dictator? (update, minutes later: Scott ran too. He saw someone walking through the park with a sign that read, Democracy dies in silence.)

At Wabun, a dozen or more people were having a picnic under one of the pavilions.

About a mile into my run, a cacophony above the trees. Geese! I followed their honks up into the sky and witnessed a wedge heading north.

blue

Today, I’m thinking about blue and trying to write a sonnet about it. As I ran, some ideas flashed in my head, so I stopped to record them:

after mile 1: inspired by the cacophony of honking geese, I thought about blue as an action, a verb, a phenomenon, not a noun or a pigment. Also: unfenced water, scattered sky.

after mile 2: Thinking about me as blue — as sparkling and shimmering and scattering and flinging waves of light all around. Blue as a happening that is not solid or tangible but imagined, a trick of the light, a “real” that we create for ourselves out of desire. Blue cannot capture the color, the feeling, the happening that blue is.

after finishing the run: The blue sky is not smooth or seamless. I see the scattering, the static, the pixels — the veil that hides the illusion of sight and seeing color, has been lifted.

Searching through my archive for thoughts about blue, I came across this fact, which inspired my thinking about scattering:

Like all other blue birds, Indigo Buntings lack blue pigment. Their jewel-like color comes instead from microscopic structures in the feathers that refract and reflect blue light, much like the airborne particles that cause the sky to look blue.

All About Birds