Thursday, June 25, 2015

Like "Waiting for Godot"

I've been stuck in/at the house most of this week due to the Better Half's hound (actually, border collie crossbreed) having digestive problems that necessitate frequent trips outside instead of a large inside mess to clean up. That's limited my wandering about to find and photograph new and exciting developments in the area, assuming there might have been any new and exciting developments in the area to report on.

the "sick puppy" when actually a puppy
the "sick puppy" when actually a puppy
Photo by J. Harrington

However, sort of like the Birdman of Alcatraz, while stuck in my canine-crafted cell block, watching out the window, I made a couple of interesting discoveries right here at home. Yesterday a small flock of goldfinches exploded from the newly planted garden in front of the house. I knew goldfinches enjoyed sunflower and thistle seeds. They're also attracted to cat mint, or cat mint seeds, it turns out. Trying to figure out what was going on with gold birds feeding on pale purple flowers, I started searching the internets earlier today. Here's a few links of interest:

goldfinch at tray feeder
goldfinch at tray feeder
Photo by J. Harrington

The other discovery came as if to reward me for my exemplary dog-care behavior. A female Baltimore Oriole landed on the rim of my new heated in the Winter bird bath and proceeded to drink from the water. It's the first use I've seen of the bird bath since it was given to me and mounted on the deck railing as a Father's Day present. The oriole and the hummingbird(s) have been coming to the oriole feeder, but not, as far as I can tell, to the hummingbird feeder out front. None of the above, or other, seems interested in the "expensive" rehydrated meal worms I've tried this year. Clearly we have more sorting out to do. The only real disappointment so far (other than the meal worms) is the scarlet tanager seems to have gone AWOL.

Birdsong, face it, some male machine

By Marianne Boruch 
Birdsong, face it, some male machine   
gone addled—repeat, repeat—the damage
keeps doing, the world ending then starting,
the first word the last, etc. It's that   

etcetera. How to love. Is a wire   
just loose? Build an ear for that. Fewer, they say.   
So many fewer, by far. He's showing off   
to call her back. Or claiming the tree.   

Or a complaint—the food around here,   
the ants, the moths, the berries. She's making   
the nest, or both are. In feathers, in hair or twigs,   
in rootlets and tin foil. Shiny bits seen

from a distance, a mistake. But fate   
has reasons to dress up. Stupid   
and dazzling have a place, a place, a place   
though never. She can't sing it.


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