This evening my son pulled the ladder around and set it up to see a branch over the chair where I sit with my coffee and tablet in the morning or wine and book in the evening when I want to commune with nature. He wondered what was inside the nest on the branch and, sure enough, he hit paydirt. Two beautiful blue eggs. What a prize!
Now, of course, I'm wondering if so late in the summer these eggs could still be viable. Down the street, my neighbor with the monster lenses spent a few hours today sitting on the sidewalk at the end of his driveway waiting for an opportunity to catch a shot of the bluebird babies nesting in the hole in his tree. He had settled in with his sophisticated equipment, including a parabolic microphone, to see and hear the chirping baby birds.
I wonder if my eggs belong to a late-blooming mother whose sentiments are pure but whose understanding of the cycle of life is lacking. She might want to take some lessons from the bluebird momma down the block.
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| Back yard booty |
Now, of course, I'm wondering if so late in the summer these eggs could still be viable. Down the street, my neighbor with the monster lenses spent a few hours today sitting on the sidewalk at the end of his driveway waiting for an opportunity to catch a shot of the bluebird babies nesting in the hole in his tree. He had settled in with his sophisticated equipment, including a parabolic microphone, to see and hear the chirping baby birds.
I wonder if my eggs belong to a late-blooming mother whose sentiments are pure but whose understanding of the cycle of life is lacking. She might want to take some lessons from the bluebird momma down the block.
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