miles of mountains and I'll ask for the sea

Back from the beach/farm trip with lots of stories and some good wounds. Surely I will post more tales of various things soon, but in the meantime all I want to do is to put up some dumb pictures.  Of various birds. That I spent time with.

 

Wild baby house wren didn't like my trimming the window boxes. Later, when I was weeding, I looked up to see him at eye-level on the stone wall before me. Then he flew into my shirt and hung on with his tiny claws. His parents were screaming at me, so I tried to put him back into another nest, but apparently that already had younger birds in it, I guess a second brood, and then they were even madder. So I held out my hand, and he fluttered down into the ivy. Sheesh.

Wounded hawk got taken to bird rehab, but not before breaking out of its' box during the night, dragging one of my favorite skirts out of my luggage, and nesting in it. It was quite a surprise when I was stumbling around in the early morning dim reaching blindly for my clothing. Oh, that's not a shirt. That's a hawk. In my dressing room. For some reason. Thanks, Dad.

Very bad fledging swallows above my window. Around dusk one night, their mom swooped down so close to me that I felt her wings brush my cheek.

 

Enough horrible birds. These tomatoes were so good, I ate a few like apples during hot afternoons. And I don't even really like tomatoes that much.

 

 

 

It's amazing how good-sore weeding all day makes a girl.