Goldfinch Rescue

Goldfinches have been sharing their airspace with robins lately,
and I mistakenly surmised in my last post that all the robins were already south of us.
But yesterday, from a hilltop tree stand near here, Don watched thousands pass over him, and today, there were hundreds more.

It may have been all that commotion that caused this small goldfinch to crash into the windows the other day.  When I first saw her, she was on the ground, belly up and breathing hard.  I scooped her up and turned her over in my hand; her tiny claws clung to my fingers, which seemed like a good sign.  As I stroked her feathers gently, and sang about her Heavenly Father's care, she rallied, so I moved her to a nearby twig.

She seemed grateful for the attention, and in return, stayed around and let me take a few pictures. Then, just before dark, she flew away, hopefully to live happily ever after with a good story to pass on to her grandchildren.

For those of you interested in textures, I used the following from Leslie Nicole
Rabelias at 50%, Sepia at 22%, and ancien at 100%.

Grateful Robins

The thermometer took a sharp downward turn today,

and the robins must have known about it ahead of time, because by yesterday,

the last of the migrating flocks that had been passing through were nowhere to be seen.

On Thanksgiving morning our back yard was alive with their motion.

A few of them drank from the birdbaths, but most of them

preferred the puddles that had formed in the tarp covering the woodpile.

They drank deeply, lifting their heads in gratitude after each swallow.

It seemed so appropriate for the day - so appropriate for every day.

And so, watching them, I lifted my heart in gratitude, too.

11/30/11  Oops!  

There are still some robins around.

For an update, click here.

Happy Thanksgiving

We all live off His generous bounty,

gift after gift after gift.

John 1:16

Robins are on the move.  Last weekend, from his vantage point in a tree stand in the woods, Don watched wave after wave of them pass low overhead, with red breasts lit by the morning sun, their mass darkening the sky.

This week, on a gray morning walk through the cedars, I heard the sound before I saw them, thousands of twitters massed into a grand symphony.  I stopped to watch and listen, and while Barley gnawed on a bone, the music enveloped me.

For this, and a million other gifts, we are truly thankful.

Linking with Texture Tuesday,

and