Oh, Guano

I’ve worked hard to create a bird-friendly garden, and this is what I get?  Bird poop.  Everywhere.  It covers the cars, fouls the bird bath, drips onto the green strawberries on their way to ripening.  There has never been such a bird shitty year.  It is very strange.

I have been noticing birds more, in general.  Driving to work yesterday I saw two crows attack and drive off a huge hawk.  And the other night I lay in the garden and watched two hawks circle their way over the neighborhood, moving slowly up the street as their tight circles took them gradually to the West.  I wanted to see one dive, but never did.  I have seen one of that pair sitting on my fence post outside the kitchen window, perhaps eyeing the bird feeder, and wishing he could find some unsuspecting lunch perched on it.  It think it was a coopers hawk, but I can’t be sure.

 There are two regular sounds in this neighborhood – the sirens of emergency personnel headed to disasters on Rt. 95, and the birds.  Strange that they should coexist, the very urban sound of human catastrophe and the rural twitter and song that I associate with utter well being.

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