The yard’s nests are having a tough year. In April, I discovered a robin’s nest in the wax myrtle. A few days later, a heap of feathers hinted that hawks had claimed another victim. Broken eggs soon joined the feathers.
Now the recent dove’s nest is also empty. I don’t know what happened, only that the nest held two eggs one day, none the next.
Both losses tempt me toward sadness, but how dare I claim sadness? Failed nests are blissfully minor tragedies. Wouldn’t it be a joyous day, if the only news worth reporting involved bird nests?