Today was quiet and only a smattering of birds appeared. It seemed as though all the mature birds were elsewhere, engaged on more important business, whilst the birds that were not paired up kept to their usual round of feeding sites…of course the single ring dove perched on the fence, the strutting blackbird splashing about in the water tray and the solitary reed bunting could have partners already sitting on a nest somewhere. The pair of long-tailed tits were back, hanging upside down from the fat ball feeder. One of them is so tiny of body, fragile, with soft feather colours, that it looks as though a breath of wind could catch at the length of its graceful tail and carry it away.
Not many birds nest in the garden or at least nest successfully. They have usually fallen victim to cats or disturbance. A family of swifts moved into the garden shed one year, when my Father accidentally left the door open overnight. Within a few hours they had a mud nest half built, the die was cast and for the rest of the Summer they were happily winging past your face as you ventured in for a hoe or the lawn mower, so close that their wings blew a breeze on the skin and it was a delight. The brood of six stared wide-eyed at you. They all fledged successfully. Father cut a hole in the door the following year and the adults did try to enter, swooping in under the glass overhang, but the hole wasn’t wide enough. I wonder if we’ll be free to come-and-go again before the swifts return this year, to nest in the angles of the neighbour’s windows.
thekitchensinkbirdwatcher 