This morning I’m listening to one bird in particular who is a joyous eruption of chirps and song. Last night we realized there is a nest on the lamp next to the door down below. One year a nest was built into the dryer vent. Another year a nest with eggs rested on top of the electrical box. With the pandemic, we didn’t drive the outside car and when we opened the hood to charge the battery, there was a perfect little nest, now empty. This year the nest is right outside a door we use daily, but it seems we’re cleared as safe.
I think the critters have a sign like hoboes used to mark a place for food. Our Welcome Here Mat is out.
Steve sits on the deck down below at night and a skunk or two wander by, an opossum, and sometimes raccoons. Certainly the squirrels are year-round residents, and at night Steve listens to an owl as he exchanges calls with two other birds.
Life here is peaceful.
I’m reading Sixpence House: Lost in a Town of Books by Paul Collins. He shares his family move from San Francisco to Hay-on-Wye in Wales, a town with forty bookstores.
When my book group went to England, we went to Hay-on-Wye, “the book capital of the world”. We spent time in Bath in honor of Jane Austen, and time in Stratford on Avon for Shakespeare, and there I found Tolkien’s Father Christmas Letters.
Books and birds delight this first day of May.