Tuesday, April 13, 2010

A couple of nests and sketchbook pages...


I am in awe of the two little chickadees who occupy the nesting box on the telephone pole in the center of my driveway. All day long they gather food and bring it back to the squeaking of little birds. Its quite a thing to witness. Its not that time yet - squeaking little bird time - for now its just the pair, one bringing food to the other sitting on the eggs. The moths that gather at the front door light are a source of great bounty for this industrious pair of nesters. Often, in the early morning, as I am making coffee, one of them is flitting around just outside taking moths from the grapevine wreath on the front door. 




Two sketchbook pages today - from a while ago - and a journal page. Sometimes they don't look so different, especially recently when I have been using a sketchbook that an art supplier gave me as a sample as my journal. I taped gingko leaves to the paper. It was just after I had done some re-arranging to my upstairs space and wanted to give it a name other than office, study, library... so.... it became my nest. Funny, I think about nesting in the winter - hibernating in my den. I watch the birds outside in sub-zero temperatures puffed up for warmth and wonder that they don't use nests until they are raising young. That they survive at all - mere ounces of body weight - is a marvel. I'm happy that the little pair has returned to raise their young again in my clearing.... maybe this year I'll finally be around or up early enough or whatever the trick is to witness the little ones leaving in the nest.... one day they are all there, chirping away, the next, silence. I've missed them leaving every year and miss their constantcy once they are gone, but pleased that they seem to like that box on the telephone pole so very much. Or, is it the bounty of moths that brings them back every year? 





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I love reading your comments and sometimes I'm good at responding right away, sometimes not! Glad you had a wander here, I hope you found the mossy path soft on your feet and heard the call of the Raven.