speed of dark

I have to get out of the habit of looking out the window. The little house is empty now. The family moved out yesterday. I watched them, and I was happy for them. But I have gotten so used in the past two months to watching them come and go and spying on their little birdie business.

It's a long story, way too long for this blog, but I'm talking about a pair of Bewick's wrens that built a nest and raised their chicks in the birdhouse we mounted outside our bedroom window. In May we had to remove the nest they had made in our main electrical box, and they were pretty ticked off about that. We weren't sure they would accept the birdhouse as a substitute, but they did.

I watched them bring nest materials, then I watched the male bird bring food for the female incubating the eggs, then I watched both parents bring food when the eggs hatched. I heard the chicks peeping whenever they sensed that the parents were near.



Early yesterday morning, the peeping was loud. The parents were near, but they weren't bringing food. They perched a few feet away from the birdhouse and sang. Occasionally they would fly up to the hole and look in and then return to a near perch and sing some more. The chicks protested indignantly. For the first time, I could see their little heads through the hole.

The first chick ventured from the hole and fluttered to the ground. It was a small, round, fluffy version of the parents. The second chick came out, then went back in! Then popped back out and fluttered down to the ground. The parents flitted about and called encouragement, leading the two chicks away toward our biggest tree, with its branches that reach down to the ground. There they could find food and safety while they gained strength and learned about the big, new world.

I could see a third chick just inside the hole, alone and abandoned. Perhaps it was the youngest, and it didn't feel ready, but it couldn't stay there by itself. After much hesitation it finally pulled itself up and sat in the hole. It lowered one little foot down to the perch like a swimmer testing the water with a toe. Then it slipped, tried to fly back into the hole, but fell to the ground. One of the adults returned immediately to guide it to the rest of the family.

I saw them again in the afternoon in some leaves next to a brushpile. The babies still couldn't fly on their weak little wings, but they were hopping and fluttering around. They opened their little yellow mouths and the parents fed them. A little while later they had moved on.

I miss them. But they aren't really gone. I hear them out in the chaparral on the slopes near our house. I hear the familiar little chirps they make when they're looking for bugs and their longer, trilling songs. Hopefully a pair will come back to the little house next spring.

Neil Young: Birds from After the Gold Rush (1970)

Lover there will be another one
who'll hover over you beneath the sun
tomorrow see the things that never come today
when you see me fly away with out you
shadow on the things you know
feathers fall around you and show you the way to go
its over, its over
nestled in your wings my little one
is special morning brings another sun
tomorrow see the things that never come
today
when you see me fly away with you
shadow on the things you know
feathers fall around you and show
you the way to go
its over, its over

Shearwater: Sing Little Birdie from Palo Santo (2007)

Goldfrapp: Little Bird from Seventh Tree (2007)

The Weepies: Little Bird from Hideaway (2008)

Grand Drive: Birdsong from Everyone (2007)

Nina Nastasia: Bird of Cuzco from On Leaving (2006)