Life
We erected a canvas canopy to block the back doors (sliding glass) from the sun, which broils us 363 days out of the year. Over the past few days I've noticed a couple small gray birds perched in the spokes. I'd hoped they were adopting one of the three birdhouses my grandfather made, and which live on each of the three walls, but this morning I saw the male bird bring sticks to the female, who put them on the smooth wood. The twigs and sticks promptly fell to the ground. I looked down at the support of the canopy and discovered piles of small twigs and dried leaves.
I know that messing with nature is usually an exercise in frustration. Still, I emptied my son's Easter Basket of the purple plastic gunk and walked cautiously out. The bird pair let me get within a couple feet, then flitted off.
Disappointed, sure my cause was hopeless, I tied the basket firmly into the spokes with an old shoe lace, scooped up some of the dropped twigs and plopped them into the basket. Then retreated. Within twenty minutes I heard them winging about, making that high whiffling noise. Half an hour, they perched on the canopy then took off. An hour after that, and she was in the basket, noodling about with the twigs, and now he is busy zapping back and forth with more twigs as she bustles to build her nest.
I know that messing with nature is usually an exercise in frustration. Still, I emptied my son's Easter Basket of the purple plastic gunk and walked cautiously out. The bird pair let me get within a couple feet, then flitted off.
Disappointed, sure my cause was hopeless, I tied the basket firmly into the spokes with an old shoe lace, scooped up some of the dropped twigs and plopped them into the basket. Then retreated. Within twenty minutes I heard them winging about, making that high whiffling noise. Half an hour, they perched on the canopy then took off. An hour after that, and she was in the basket, noodling about with the twigs, and now he is busy zapping back and forth with more twigs as she bustles to build her nest.