Souring soundlessly across the rippled pond

a swallow joins me at the wetlands.

Taunting me, my feet planted solidly against the gravel path,

the swallow earns its spot on the food chain

while insects fatefully meet their demise.

Like a Japanese watercolor,

a rounded avian pair meet the morning,

perched, delicately, on an unadorned branch.

An early Robin, having already gotten the worm,

 waits patiently for me to avert my gaze.

Only then will breakfast be delivered

to her hungry nestlings

waiting quietly overhead.

 I turn my face toward the sun

seeking its warmth 

while slowly moving along the gravel path

searching for what the wetlands offer this morning.

Cowbird Dance

A black, predawn morning was soon split by fuchsia streaks that foretold a coming rain. An omen known since the first sunrise and sunset was pronounced "good,"  a  "saying" spoken of by Jesus and used by people since the dawn of time (pun intended) to make plans for the day, "red at morning, sailor's warning; red at night, sailor's delight," proved true this morning.   
Thundering rain was followed by a misty fog that pushed us back toward bed only to be pulled, again to the window, by turkeys that gobbled in response to each thunder clap. 
Once the rain stopped and my internet recovered, I gathered my "office" consisting of a tray with a carafe of green tea, my teacup and saucer from Patty, with my computer, tucked tightly under my arm and went out to the picnic table on the porch. Because it is a cool morning I have on my twenty-four year old corduroy winter coat and have a blanket, quilted by my sister, wrapped snugly around my legs.  "How could that be worth it?" you might ask. Because, this is where things are happening.
This is where a pair of Carolina wrens is building their nest. It's where Robins sing their greetings to each other and to the day. 
It's also where a pair of Brown-headed cowbirds have chosen to dance their way to romance.

With movements that resembled many human folk dances, the birds mirrored each other's action or took turns with their steps.

Through short flight from branch, or a bob of its head, each bird made its intentions known.

This was my favorite move.

Yes, I am happy to be here, bundled as I am, happy to hear the drum of Woodpeckers, the call of Phoebes, the dong of chimes and the caw of distant crows.

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