Who’s the frolicking ray of sunshine lying to the world about birds? Birds so lovely. Birds so worth watching at dawn. In the woods. With binoculars.
Who? I’ll tell you who.
Poets!
Birds glide on the breath of God
Feathers sleek as angels’ wings
For their eyes have seen heaven
Childrens writers!
Chirp chirp. Are you my mother, little kittie?
Chirp chirp. Are you my mother, little doggie?
Baby bird! Baby Bird! I was getting worms for you to eat. I am your mommy, and you are my baby forever, Baby Bird!
Artists!
They paint … A charming red barn tucked into a forest of fall colors, birds flocking to a warmer place, needing no compass, for they glide on the breath of God.
Farmers!
Robins mean planting. Planting means corn and soy and beans! Those farming rascals smile, don’t they, when folks yammer away about spring robin sightings.
Looked out my kitchen window and just about spit my coffee when I saw a robin. I thought it was a Twix wrapper. Hmmm. Maybe it was a Twix wrapper.
I saw a robin sitting in the snow by my pre-lit Santa you know I got it half price from Walmart on Black Friday but anyhoo it was a robin so it’s time to pack up the Christmas lights and soon enough we’ll be making Easter pies then going to graduation parties and goodness time sure flies.
Wouldn’t you know? Saw a robin this morning, and it’s only May. God bless Minnesota.
One of these delightful robin creatures appeared yesterday, and she was not gliding on God’s breath. I was in the garage when a robin shot from a bomb squad and rocketed toward my head. I shrieked and ducked and fumbled for my keys and narrowly escaped into my car.
As I sat shaking in the driver’s seat, I noticed bird poop smeared across my side and front windows. Fresh, too. I knew I had a few minutes to inspect before the robin brought reinforcements.
Here’s what I found.
Proof!
More proof!
A perfectly constructed nest built into the garage door opener, which had plenty of wires for her to twist into support beams for the sturdy nest. I thought Hah! See how well your babies sleep when my fella leaves for work at five in the morning.
Since there were no eggs, we took it down, which is to say he took it down and tossed it in the garbage.
Each warm day brings more of them. Beady eyes, orange breasts, beaks like knives; chirp, chirp chirping like they’re introducing themselves while they’re really scoping our garages to build nests of death. I’ve seen Alfred Hitchcock, and I know the pain and fear birds can inflict after they come to a charming small town, innocently gliding on the breath of God.
Little bastards.
shelley tougas 