Saturday

We have a starling caught in the woodstove. It arrived via chimney last evening. Husband can see the bird, but can't get at it, and has had run-ins with starlings before . . . he has gone to see if he can buy a butterfly net to catch it. We've caught many a bird without special tools, but if he's interested in investing, it won't be money wasted. 
Someday he can use it on me, perhaps.

On my way to the store this morning I passed a Canada goose couple. They've set up housekeeping at a swampy, creeky spot that seems to be all their own. I have seen them several times over the last few weeks, usually standing close together, whispering sweet nothings to each other. The lady seems always to hold her face downward coquettishly while the gander stands with his chin up and chest out, looking very manly. As I passed them on my return trip, he showed me his open bill. My window was not open but I imagine he was hissing at me, showing off, protecting his lady love.

I've seen half a dozen male red-winged blackbirds in pursuit of the dull-colored females. Such aerobatics! Oh, to be pursued, or ever to have been pursued, with such ardor!

A male bluebird greeted me one morning a week ago as I reached for my first cup of coffee. He perched on top of the shepherd's crook at the corner of the patio, all bright and blinding blue. Bluebird blue is such a clear, clear color.

And someone told me recently . . . someone who knows these things . . . that there are no blue birds. That all the birds we see as blue are black or gray or some mixture and it is just the way our eyes see the light reflected that makes them appear blue. I find that simultaneously interesting and obvious. Everything is only the color we see it because of the way the light reflects from it, after all.