Birds of a Feather

Today feels like an official fall day. The air is cool, the breeze fragranced by the faint perfume of clematis winding through my neighbor’s fence. Nearby, the bird feeder seems like the only show in town.

Flocks of wrens, finches and robins descend en masse to that small red-roofed house filled with black oil sunflower seed, shouldering through to get the goods. Gone are the skittish birds of spring. This older, wiser group means business.

I live on land that was once a bird conservatory. Over the years, houses popped up where there had once only been trees. Some of the birds have moved on, but others keep their families here, generation after generation, refusing eviction and deciding to adapt instead.

I wouldn’t necessarily call them pets, even though that is the blog theme for September. I’m more of a temporary landholder—a caregiver of the flocks. Yet, I feel a bond with them, all the same.

Sometimes, when I see them congregating at the birdbath, chirping and chattering, I imagine they’re sharing gossip. One might mention that rude squirrel she caught hanging from the feeder, gorging on their food and ignoring a perfectly good ear of corn left for him. Another might complain of a headache from the noise of the migrating Canadian geese at the natural springs down the hill.

Then sometimes, I imagine the talk is all about how this feeder—the one with the black oil sunflower seed—is far superior to the other ones in the neighborhood.

I puff up with pride over this before I move from the window, returning to my computer and steaming mug of tea.

Perhaps I’ll put up another feeder before winter.