Morning Show

     When I first moved from Fresno forty miles southeast to Visalia, I missed the singing of birds that I'd known in my three Fresno yards. Doug immediately installed bird feeders. We currently have five feeders and two birdbaths. I often stand at the sliding doors or sit in the breakfast nook just watching and listening to the birds.

Morning Show

           

The blue jay announces breakfast from the Chinese elm, then flies

madly about the back yard, trying to dominate the feeders and the

ground where seed has spilled. He favors the long clear tube and hangs

half upside down from one of its delicate perches long enough

to get his beak in the hole. In the pomegranate branches, brown finches

with black-striped heads wait patiently, when it is safe, drop to the ground.

The black-hooded ones I call executioners vie for supremacy of the wood

house, hopping from one side to the other, catching a quick seed before

flitting to the roof. On the red schoolhouse, hanging amid the tulip tree’s

blossoms, a small, drab brown bird turns and reveals scarlet washing

down his throat and breast. Pewter gray doves make a short, straight flight

across the yard, looking as though they will crash, then chase each other

around under the azaleas. Watching from the breakfast nook, my husband

drinks coffee and I tea. He turns to me. “You wanted birds,” he smiles.