Behind my computer screen is a window overlooking our marsh. Bad for the eyes, but balm for the spirit.
Dreary accounting was dramatically interrupted this morning by a bald eagle swooping down to harass, if not to catch, a tasty gosling. Parental outrage with much goosey bellowing and hysterical flapping of wings saw him off. This particular family is already 3 down from the starting number of 6. Last year they had seven. Seven little bundles of yellow are adorable. Seven large geese, nine with the parents, waddling around the garden they now think of as their own, is a pain in the neck. I clap and Jack jumps, but nothing stops them from doing whatever they want, wherever they want. And so, the truth is, I found myself rooting for the eagle.
This is a very birdy time of year. The swallow house has been cleaned out, the oranges are out for the orioles, the bluebird house has already been checked out and rejected by a sniffy duo (for lack of granite work surfaces, no doubt) and emails fly between us and our neighbour across the way reporting new arrivals ("I'll see your oriole and raise you two red breasted grosbeaks" was sent to us the other day. My friend on Cape Cod reports hummingbirds and so today I must prepare some nectar for our feeders to welcome those little heroes back from their collossal journey.
In the meantime, featherless guests come and go at the inn,sometimes offering glimpses into their own migrations and the perils and joys encountered along the way. We treasure the hummingbirds amongst them and put up with the occasional goose with as much good grace as we can muster.
