Flying Leaves and Falling Wings

A skiff of snow fell overnight, and in the morning, the dogwood tree in the front yard, so glorious just days before, wore its leaves in patches like a mangy dog. A bluebird flew in and landed on one of the thin branches. 

Another joined it, then another, followed by waxwings and robins, as if the fallen leaves had sprouted wings overnight and were back, standing in as replacements. It isn't a bad trade-off. For the leaves, their first flight is their last, but the birds keep flying. They animate the tree in a way leaves never can.

The few dogwood berries that remained were strewn on the ground. Taking stock of the inventory, the birds hopped to the ground to bolt down their breakfast. One bluebird peered under a leaf, located a neon red berry and swallowed it whole in one gulp. Within a few minutes, the flock had cleared the yard of berries and moved on. 

Not all of the birds were so fortunate. A purple finch crashed into our sliding glass door and laid on the deck like a fallen leaf before struggling to its feet. Listing to one side, it perched wobbly, hanging on to life with a tenacity known to wild things. Hoping to shelter it from the frigid breeze, I took an old towel outside, shaping it with a cavity for a windbreak, and gingerly set the bird inside.

The finch rested there, unresponsive for some time, an uneaten sunflower seed still in its beak. 

After a while, it dropped the seed, lifted its head, and surveyed the surroundings with a renewed recognition. It seemed to remember, for the first time in a while, that it could fly. 

With a swift motion, it picked up the seed again, hopped to the top of the towel, and lifted off. One fallen leaf had taken flight.

Sky Glory

Don called on the way home from work yesterday. "There's a rainbow in the east," he told me. "If you want to take pictures from the other side of the lake, I'll pick you up in a few minutes." Don has a good eye for photographic opportunities, and it's always nice to have a spotter. As mercurial as rainbows can be, I was also grateful that my personal chauffeur had offered to save me a few precious minutes. We drove to the other side of the bridge and clicked a few pictures. In a matter of 3 minutes, it was gone. 

If Don hadn't called, I would have still been sitting at my computer, unaware of the glory in the sky.

Gulf Fritillary

Last week a bright orange butterfly visited, floating over the zinnias, flourishing delicate orange wings, then touching down and dancing on tiptoes. Dressed in an orange and white striped fur coat, it sipped sweet nectar through a straw-like proboscis. It was here a couple of days, and we saw another one two miles from here. They both left just before the weather turned chilly. We think they liked it here. We'll be watching next year and hope they come back and bring their friends with them.

Smarty

Last week I went with my neighbor to a secluded parcel of farmland where she trains her two dogs. Toby, her 3-year-old lab, is a titled master hunter/retriever, and he takes his occupation seriously. He swam through a pond laden with lily pads and emerged on the opposite shore, running up the grassy hillside. At the sound of his master's whistle, he stopped, pivoted and sat in one smooth motion, giving her his full attention. Her hand signals sent him to the right or left, forward or back until he hunted out the decoy she had hidden in the grass and brought it back to her.

If Toby is serious about his job, Smarty, the 7-month old lab, finds nothing but fun in training. She has the energy of a bronco on steroids, and if Toby out-performed her, it was not for lack of physical ability or desire, but only something that time and patient training will change. Chances are, she'll be a master before long and have a good time getting there.

Smarty and her trainer paused for a moment before we left, just long enough for me to snap this picture of her, wet and happy.

Fledglings

A thin, high pitched, incessant cheeping drew my attention to the fledgling cardinal. It flew down from a tree above the feeder, landing on the deck rail near where its dad was gathering sunflower seeds, and waited expectantly, if not patiently.

It paid off. The young ones have been running their parents ragged lately with their voracious appetites and pleading cries.

Carolina wrens were busy, too, searching high...

and low...

...for food for the nestlings in the basket.

They fledged this evening, just before dusk. One of them was perched on the woodpile as we walked by, and when we went inside, 3 others popped into view. They took short practice flights around the porch, cheered on by their watching parents.

Tomorrow they'll be off in the wild blue, but we hope they remember home and come around to visit. We'll leave the light on.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday