Birds open our eyes to the wildness in the world.

What I mean by this is that out there, beyond our human-constructed comforts and rituals and imagined systems of belief, there remains the older, authentic reality. Nature, still, in spite of all we have inflicted upon it, enfolds us. Amazingly to me, it continues to function as effectively as it does. It carries on under increasing duress, seen in escalating climate catastrophes. But still, each winter the same hermit thrush reliably returns from some unknown coniferous mountain forest to shelter within a few square meters of my front door.

To notice such natural details is its own reward. Connections become apparent. There’s learning in this close attention, which brings both satisfaction and pain. My own paintings, in phases abstract and representational, are grounded in nature. They show impressions and memories of landscapes, sometimes birds and animals presented with backstories and metaphor. In making art, the reward is in the process of connecting.

Locally observable evidence confirms the scientific findings that we’re living through the blink of time in which more than 50% of wild animal life has been destroyed.

I’ve spent a lifetime worrying about unresolvable environmental problems. I get seriously depressed at the prospect of Roundup-poisoned dead zones sprayed along 101 by Caltrans. I despair when I see another warbler killed by a free-range house cat.

Faced with the troubling statistics on the multiple collapses occurring in the natural world, I look more eagerly than ever for the positive. Close to home, I see some encouraging signs among the general diminishments.

Arriving in the Bay Area from New York by way of New England more than 50 years ago, I responded, as do so many people, to the beauty of our natural setting. I began to familiarize myself with a local biosphere different from my home ground. It was a thrill for someone used to the blue jays of the East to first encounter the impressive Steller’s jays of Mount Tamalpais. Such Western endemics like the California quail and cinnamon teal helped remind me that I was indeed out West. I delved into California’s outback, learning the wildlife and many of the plants. Having been intimate with nature in the Northeast, I experienced a second love affair with the natural world after moving to California.

Marin County, spectacular enough as a whole to have rated — at least in my mind — potential national park status, instead became what it’s today. Nonetheless, it’s a county rich in lands protected from despoliation under many jurisdictions.

Because of its protected habitats, it harbors many of its pre-European-settlement fauna. The only missing bird I can think of is the California condor, and from recent indications, that absence may soon be remedied as condors have again been seen cruising the thermals into the immediate Bay Area. There’s hope.

To imagine the Marin peninsula of 300 years ago is not too hard. Condors and grizzly bears would likely be scavenging the carcasses of seals and whales. Herds of tule elk would mass along lowlands such as the Petaluma River marshes, seeking security from mountain lions and wolves. Although unconfirmed, it’s possible that pronghorns ranged here, too. They were abundant in the Central Valley. The presence of grizzlies kept black bears at bay, just as local wolf packs controlled coyote numbers. Bald eagles patrolled the coasts while golden eagles and other raptors hunted the uplands, as they do today. The ocean and bays were alive with sea otters, seals, sea lions, harbor porpoises, dolphins and whales. Spawning salmon clogged the creeks. Ducks and shorebirds were likely in the millions.

Today’s California, the state with the most diverse habitats, is home to two subspecies of bighorn sheep, the Sierra Nevada bighorn and the desert bighorn, three subspecies of elk, the tule elk, Roosevelt elk and Rocky Mountain elk, several subspecies of mule deer and Columbian black-tailed deer. Not bad in a state with close to 40 million people.

Thanks to enlightened policies over recent decades, some whale species, harbor porpoises, elephant seals, river otters, tule elk, coho and chinook salmon, steelhead trout, peregrine falcons, bald eagles and brown pelicans have returned in some numbers to Marin lands and waters. There have been well-publicized visits from a couple of black bears and mountain lions as well. It has been proposed that sea otters be reintroduced to the San Francisco Bay. All of these good-news stories result from the increased human awareness and effort occurring within the years since my arrival in the Bay Area.

Memorialized on our state flag, the California subspecies of grizzly bear is forever gone. But there is discussion of bringing grizzlies from other regions to various California wilderness areas. Wolves have begun re-establishing themselves in the state after being extirpated. There remains adequate habitat for almost all of the native species. If we protect these lands and waters from ourselves, we may aspire to biologist E.O. Wilson’s proposed solution to the biodiversity crisis put forward in his book “Half-Earth”: to set aside 50% of Earth’s surface for other species to thrive and, ultimately, for our own well-being.

An artist, whose paintings are held in many museum collections, Marin resident Jeffrey Long has backpacked the mountains of the West and hosts the blog Konocti Post. His art can be seen at Jeffreylongstudio.com. He can be reached at jefflong@jefflong.com.