(no subject)
One spring while I was living with my parents, a pair of birds, some sort of sparrows, made a nest in the wreath hanging on the front door. The outside door was glass and the wreath hung by a large suction cup. The inner door was wood with a small window at eye level. We thought about removing the nest. We couldn't go out the front door without disturbing it, and it was likely to fall anyway.
We didn't move it. The literal window into their little lives was too cool to pass up. They completed the nest. Five eggs were laid. One mysteriously disappeared. Only two hatched. I found one of the chicks dead on the doormat. Later there was a storm that blew the wreath into the yard and killed the last one. We don't know what happened to the parents.
Maybe a week after I moved into this apartment another pair of birds built a nest in the eaves of my balcony. House finches, this time. I saw them start to build, using bits of one of my hanging flowerpots. I thought about taking the nest down in the early stages. It's MY balcony, after all, and they'll probably poop on the railing.
But I didn't. Mostly because I didn't save that other little bird family. Unlike that wreath, my balcony is a safe, stable home. I'd feel guilty, forcing them to find another.
The eggs have hatched. I don't know how many. At least three. They're thriving, I guess. I hear them twittering every morning and opening their little birdy mouths when mama comes back to feed them.
I just want them to make it this time.
We didn't move it. The literal window into their little lives was too cool to pass up. They completed the nest. Five eggs were laid. One mysteriously disappeared. Only two hatched. I found one of the chicks dead on the doormat. Later there was a storm that blew the wreath into the yard and killed the last one. We don't know what happened to the parents.
Maybe a week after I moved into this apartment another pair of birds built a nest in the eaves of my balcony. House finches, this time. I saw them start to build, using bits of one of my hanging flowerpots. I thought about taking the nest down in the early stages. It's MY balcony, after all, and they'll probably poop on the railing.
But I didn't. Mostly because I didn't save that other little bird family. Unlike that wreath, my balcony is a safe, stable home. I'd feel guilty, forcing them to find another.
The eggs have hatched. I don't know how many. At least three. They're thriving, I guess. I hear them twittering every morning and opening their little birdy mouths when mama comes back to feed them.
I just want them to make it this time.