Sunday, April 03, 2011
Tree Top Thinking
We had a rare warm morning a few days ago, and the still bare trees echoed with turf claims and booty calls. There was a cardinal high aloft but I couldn't see it though its cries were loud enough to be touched.
Bird morning to you, cardinal, I'd kiss your ring but I can't find it. But I spilled a little coffee, so accept that as a tribute, Prince of Rome, and my best to the missus.
It's never dull in the trees these mornings, something's always up, someone new in the neighborhood. Pitcher birds and flycatchers reporting early, let's start the whole shebang over again, make us some nests, lay us some eggs, teach the little bastards to fly, get them eating grubs and point them south in the fall.
Toss another layer of birds on the old earth, sinking old cardinals and popes and whatnot another layer down, pressing into old strata of crowns and feathers, giving us something to look for when the sliding plates heave them up again, birds from the ocean bottom, perched on the sides of mountains.
