At the top of our front porch pillar is a colorful nest where five baby phoebes peer down at me silently as I pass. They stack together like spices in a pantry, and with their insatiable appetites, both parents work in tandem to provide a steady stream of food.

Early in the morning, I hear the male phoebe's song from across the yard. Perched on a bare yucca stem, he scans the ground for a fat bug to feed his nestlings. He swoops down, flying low like a crop duster, and pivots to catch his plump prey. After admiring his kill for a moment, he flies up to deliver a meal to the hungry chicks. Following him, the female wrestles with a butterfly to provide dinner for the voracious nestlings. Not all of their prey submit willingly. 

By this afternoon, three of the nestlings had climbed out of the nest and onto the pillar ledge, creating some breathing room in their stifling quarters. They won't be here much longer. At least then, the butterflies will be able to breathe a little easier.

Watchful Eye

What would spring be without baby birds?

Carolina Wrens fledged a month ago from the basket on our front porch. For a couple of weeks, they used porch as a landing pad and mess hall and, unfortunately, a latrine. They were just adorable enough to put up with the mess.

Their tail feathers, at first barely discernible, grew until, at a glance, it was hard to distinguish the little ones from their parents. But when they flew, it was obvious who the flight instructors were.

After a fortnight, the parents were still doing the feeding. 

While the fledglings waited for their parents, they rested in the shade of the flowerbed... 

examined new garden plants... 

and did their wing exercises.

• If it seemed that their parents had forgotten them, they emitted heartbreaking chirps.

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When a bug breakfast was finally served a la carte, they devoured it like Eggs Benedict by a shipwreck survivor.

In past years the birds vacated the porch immediately after they fledged. It may have something to do with the fact that I used to sit on the porch as the baby birds surfaced from their basket. The first year, the fledglings surfaced from the basket and landed on my lap, much to the consternation of their parents. I was probably about as welcome as a fox at a frog's picnic. This year we tried to allow them space, coming in and out of the house from the back door, and we saw them frequently for about two weeks.

The porch is also home to Eastern Phoebes, who have attached their nest high on the wall near the front door. The birds were making frequent visits, but for a long time, we didn't see any evidence of new life. After the Carolina Wrens left, I was curious enough to get out the ladder and climb up to check out the nest. It contained three grasshopper-sized bits of fluff and one egg. The next morning there was an empty egg on the bricks under the nest. 

Now, two of the nestlings perch in the nest, observing the world outside their porch. Their heads are already more significant than the egg from which they emerged.

None of these birds is aware of the crisis in the world around them. While fears abound, five little Carolina Wrens pecked their way out of their shells, grew, and learned to fly, and the Phoebes are burgeoning in their nest, all under the watchful eye of their Heavenly Father. We can rest assured that He sees us, too.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday