From a branch in the old dogwood tree at the edge of the yard,
we can hear the Phoebe singing her unique song, calling out her name again and again,
"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe".
She has a good reason to sing.
The construction is completed on her new nest,
located on a ledge at the top of a pillar under the roof of the front porch.
She keeps one eye on it from the dogwood tree.
Several generations of Phoebes have grown up on our front porch,
right where we could watch them from the kitchen window.
They make an awful mess, but a little cleanup seems a reasonable price for front row tickets.
Several years ago, when we had a mason wrap our wooden pillars with cultured stone,
we asked him to build special shelves at the tops with the Phoebes in mind.
He humored us, and the Phoebes made their preference known by moving away.
For years, we only heard their song from a distance.
They are finally back, but they ignored our special addition for them,
and built their nest on the other side of the pillar, away from the kitchen.
and built their nest on the other side of the pillar, away from the kitchen.
It's made of grass and hair, and covered with bright green moss.
Outside, the Phoebe flies to the supplejack above the birdbath,
which she has commandeered as her command post, pausing and wagging her tail,
and then to the top of a tall oak, where her song continues.
And we wait, trying not to count our Phoebes before they are laid.
