Thrush And Friends

Phoebes

Location! Location! Etc.!

Phoebe On Nest. Moose River, America. May 29, 2020.

Home! Home! Finally Home!

Great Crested Flycatcher, Moose River, New York. June 1, 2020.

The only thing tougher than going home right now is leaving home.

Ten minutes earlier heading back into the world of whatever isn't home is, and I don't see this kid and friends. And they don't see me either. 

I hope they're smarter than I and hang a while. I'll be back soon if I can and look forward to possibilities. Almost fifteen years pass between friends like forever. But there we were, some of us. 

And I'm not kidding: ten minutes later and none of this happens.

And it did happen. 

I believe in miracles.

A Veery Story: Part Pain

I'm not sure it sounds like the narrator is teary-eyed and afraid at the prospects but I can assure you of one thing: he was scared as hell. It was a very long hour for more than one of the principles. A little birdie claims this all ends well, though, so hang in there.

A Veery Story In...Some Order: Act One

A veery (THE veery) makes an appearance near the fire pit several moments before the story begins. The Cottage. Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019.

A Veery Story: Act 3

 

Hard to hold a camera steady when you're shocked and thrilled and crying.

The Light Line

   
I try not to offer advice, not so much because nobody wants it as because nobody wants it. Which is, actually, liberating and great. You'd (which means I'd) think it would make life easier, as if you got off the hook, as if the dreams and thoughts you wanted to share disappeared the second you claimed you forgot to share them.

They don't. Pains and foolish or at least misguided certitudes hop forward (though "hop" is too much action and "forward" seems obvious so forget that last little bunch. But whatever; life is life and we notice what we notice and we love or hate or don't notice.)

Three choices seem enough: Love. Hate. Ignorance. Any variance adds up to some collective confusion of those words or the thoughts we attempt to express with them.

This must be confusing even to anyone who understands it all (and those people-if any-both scare and energize me) as it confuses me letter by letter. But that's no reason to give up. Hell; it's not even a reason to pretend to quit anything. Right now it glows as quite the opposite.

And so: here's a phoebe perch waiting through this fall and impending winter and most likely a bunch of spring, surrounded by its neighborhood (perhaps friendly; maybe otherwise) and unmarked by clawstrikes for months now. The stick in the middle, the light line, is the thing here. Which is odd, and not just because it mostly isn't.

MJ

Girls

Does it matter that it was actually the 30th of May? Who knows. But it was.

Swampy In The Rain

Turkey hen in the grove. Moose River, New York, June 5, 2019.

Four Days From Saginaw

Baby's robin looks out at the rest of America. Moose River, New York, June 3, 2019.

The Best Of All Possible Worlds

Magnetic birds uncovered, ready to ascend from their rest atop the radio to the face of GE. 

Moose River, New York, April 26, 2019.

Grosbeak and Friend

The first Cottage appearance of a rose-breasted grosbeak in several years,

and the first sighting of a chipmunk in several seconds.

Moose River, New York, May 18, 2019.

There May Be Another Star

Moose River, New York, May 4, 2019. A surprising abundance of bird sights and sounds continued, today bringing finches. Not sure if the guys in the picture found girls yet, but no worries about the girl in the lower left corner; the next morning her slightly-red suitor was on the scene.

Lesson Learned (For Now)

White-throated sparrow, Moose River, New York, near the end of April 27, 2019, which moments earlier seemed to be among the gloomiest days ever. After this, much less so.

Birds on GE, Moose River, New York, April 26, 2019.