| March
8th 2009
I just thank goodness I am not a Bluebird at this
time of year. I would look magnificent of course, but I would be
driven by lust and an associated aggressiveness, all suddenly contained
within my polite and proper frame.
When battle
was lost, I would retreat. From a distance I would watch the happy couple as they
developed their pair. Watch them sauntering to and fro as proud lovers
do. A nest and an egg.
Probably too, I would contain a sense of failure. Despondent I
would watch for insects as I asked the question 'why?' Perhaps I
might curse my blue feathers, wish I had been born a Mocking Bird, and
then for certain I would sit up there and dance and caterwaul all night
long.
|
But in a week or two, Tree Swallows will be here, and the nesting site chosen by this happy couple
is a Tree Swallow tradition which the Tree Swallows will win again,
because Tree Swallows are garrulous and excitable and filled with dash.
Then perhaps I might shrug at the happy couple, and
I might hear her say, "Caring for children is not quite what I had in mind."
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