On a sunny Saturday, such as today, we'd normally take our lunch outside onto the deck and enjoy the breeze-dancing tree branches and birdsong. We're not short on birdsong right now. Two pairs of finches have chosen to nest between the beams, under the protective overhang. I can't bring myself to disturb their sanctuary.
We've progressed from parent birds working hard to build nests, through the incubation period, to the chattering chirrups of demanding fledglings and the incessant air traffic of birds trying to satisfy their ever-hungry young. There are baby birds hunkered down in this photo. I climbed on a step ladder to get the shot but they're struggling so hard to be invisible that you can hardly see them, unless you enlarge the image.
We have stereo bird song from front and back of our living quarters. Who could ask for a sweeter wake up call each morning?
Our neighborhood Postman retired this week. Bob has been here longer than we. He's an old fashioned looking guy, with a civil war hair do and moustache. He knows everyone by name and has a soft spot for dogs and cats. He's originally from the Smokey Mountains and has a slight disability due to an accident with a moonshine still, in his youth.
We have an email group for about eighty houses on these three streets and a cul de sac or two. It was instigated for disaster preparedness after the earthquake in 1989. The group email was used to chat about how best to thank Bob for his diligent and friendly service. A collection was proposed and topped $800 in two days. We all left cards and notes for Bob on our mailboxes on Friday. Mine suggested that he leash up his own dogs and come walk these streets as an honorary neighbor.