Bird in flight

Bird in flight

The sage sends up shoots of delicate purple flowers, matched in color by the chives. The beans have leafed out, and the nettles are standing tall in the woods.

This morning, as rain spattered the top deck, I stood barefoot with my cat. The full green of leaves, interspersed with the silver of the mist. Birds called through the spattering droplets, as the trio of hummingbirds vied for the feeder. There are two I call the married couple, who share space willingly, and a third — the interloper bird. Sometimes, the interloper will spar with a member of the married couple — shining green breast to shining green breast, followed by a zoom and a stream of invective-like chirps that appear to be trash-talking.

Two garter snakes have taken up residence in the garden: the big, fat one and a smaller one. I’m constantly disrupting their sun-soak time as I go in and out of the garage, for which I repeatedly apologize.

Phoebes have taken up residence in the garage, building their nest in the open door. And so, the door will remain open until all the young-uns have fledged and made their way in the world.

Snapping turtles laid their eggs this past week along the Rail Trail. During my Beltane rite, a red fox ran through my woods in full view, a short distance away.

I’ve heard the veery sing its otherworldly trill behind the college, and watched goldfinches lend their light through the brush.

As I walked to my car a few days ago, I followed the threads of an amazing song to the white boughs of a sycamore. A gray catbird, hidden in the leaves, crafted a virtuoso song of many parts. Then, a female yellow warbler lighted on the neighboring branch, regarding me directly with a dark eye and a chirp. “Don’t settle for cheap catbird imitations. Make sure you listen to authentic warbler songs.”

Surprised, I laughed and the annoyed catbird chased the warbler away in a huff. The catbird is a cover bird, I mused, and not an original artist.

I haven’t spied the fishers yet, but I’m hoping they’re well. Swallowtail butterflies drift through the woods, like my errant thoughts.


About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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One Response to Coverbirds

  1. Spring is a lovely time of year. Your words are great and should inspire others to pause, watch and listen. Loved this.

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