On clear mornings, before the heat has risen and the tasks of the day have crowded in, I like to sit on the deck and read my Bible. It's the best way I know to start the day. When I first go out, the yard is silent, then, little by little, the wild things pick up their normal activity, and the sounds of life return.
Lately I've had company. Here's the pattern; from the nearby hickory tree I hear the wingbeats of a bird going to and from the feeder. I hold my breath as the sound comes closer and a tufted titmouse swoops into sight. It flies to the table in front of me, then flits from chair to chair, cocking its head and studying me to be sure I'm not a threat. That satisfied, the little titmouse is in the air again, and I feel its wings brush my hair. After several false starts, it gathers courage, and sits down on my head. Once there, there's a lot of hair arranging before little beautician flies away.
These birds usually build nests in tree cavities; if I didn't know that, I'd think they were starting one on my head. More likely, they're just looking for nesting material, like a local version of Home Depot, and I'm happy to fill that need, as long as they don't get carried away.
When we were kids, Mom drew heavily from a collection of adages to teach us lessons. I'm reminded of her often repeated one about worries:
You can't keep a bird from flying over your head,
but you can keep it from making a nest in your hair.
Don sneaked these pictures the other day from the house, and I didn't even know I was married to a paparazzi.
