Standing Tall
My birds. They gather to eat and drink. The latter is new. It took them a while to realize a bird bath was in place. They get it now. But no one is bathing. They sit on the edge and sip. They’re wary, too. Always looking. Scanning the room. Seeking predators. But the cats are on the ground. So, I’m not sure where the terror lies. Maybe a hawk. Or an owl. Of course, when you’re only slightly bigger than a minute there’s probably a lot of things that concern you.
As for the eating, everyone is mostly civil. There are four slots. Birds fly in, birds fly out. They sit in the branches of the sumac or the Mesquite and wait their turn. The Cardinals rule. They’re big. Then come the Blackcrested Titmouses followed by the Lesser Goldfinches and finally, the Carolina Chickadees, the tiniest of the lot, and really, really skittish. Every once in a while, however, the whole lot takes off as though a signal had been sent. The reason has never been made clear to me.
I suppose with enough watching all will be revealed. And that’s the fun of watching as they gather at the feeder. Viewing up close a segment of the world that usually flies by unnoticed because the creatures are so small and move so fast. And now, as the daylight creeps in, they’ll stir, just as I’m stirring. And they will check to see if there is food in the tree by the house by the field. And eat if there is but fly on if not. And either way they will never know why it happened. And I’ll always be a mystery to them. And there’s a certain power in that, and it should be wielded carefully.