The blue jay fledglings are beginning to spend some time in the open. I wonder if it’s due to growing confidence, or if it’s more a matter of growing hunger. It seems to be a lot of work, keeping them fed…
birds
Birds and Dragonflies
The blue jay babies are fledged, but they haven’t started foraging on their own. They continue to rely on their parents for food. (More about the blue jays here, here, and here.) While the adults flit back and forth, the babies explore the densest parts of our wax myrtle (where I can’t get a picture of them), exercising their voices and wings. There are at least three fledglings, possibly four, though it sounds like there might be a dozen when they shriek in unison.
During occasional blue jay lulls, when the parents forage in other yards (or simply take a break from their raucous brood), doves and sparrows share a turn at the feeder.
The doves gulp seed in greedy excess, then settle on nearby perches to preen and stretch as they digest their meals.
Along with birds, the yard is filling with dragonflies. Eastern Pondhawks have joined last week’s Blue Dashers.
I’ve also seen two or three species I can’t identify, like this golden beauty. (My best guess is a female Needham’s Skimmer. Can anyone confirm or correct that ID?)
Today was hot and humid, just right for June. I mowed through the heat, then sat on the deck to enjoy a fitful breeze stirred by approaching storms. I was tempted, for a moment, to call the yard “mine”. But a burst of blue jay racket reminded me that it isn’t mine at all.
The Cardinals
Two mated cardinals
Muted mother and masked father
Alarmed and flashed around the corner
Through crepe myrtle, plum, and iris
Their single nestling, un-nested
Precocious and half-fledged
Quavering in the awful sun
Exposed, expelled, exploring
The perilous yard
An infant still shaped to shell
Convex and vexed
Voraciously alive
Irresistibly ugly kernel
Of what might be lovely
Clad in summer plume
Though now all hungry gape
Begging nourishment
Little family of fear on the lawn
Watched by the brooding housewife
Who sits her own reluctant nest
Of amniotic memory
Hatching into phrase
And eager to mature
Like the cardinal chick
Which disappeared next morning
Gone from the woodpile and irises
From the bright wing of father
From the red-headed husband
Whose pajama-clad wife
Frets barefoot in the dew
More Doves
There’s nothing newsworthy about doves on the roof. And, as much as I hate to admit it, a gutter full of twigs is not unusual, either.
However, in this instance the two are related.
It wouldn’t be my first choice, were I seeking a place to nest, but she seems content.
Fortunately, this part of the roof doesn’t drain much. As long as we don’t get any tropical storms, the nest should be safe.
Doves
There’s a family of doves in our front flower bed. Two fledglings, with two tired parents, spent yesterday and today following patches of sun through the irises. I’ve enjoyed watching them, and so have the cats.
Rae Spencer 