I'm sitting on the screen porch. It's that time of year again. I'm putting off the mountain of today's dishes. I've temporarily gotten off of the laundry treadmill.. one load in the washer...one load in the dryer. Fold the load that just came out of the dryer.... over and over again. The egg collecting will have to wait too.
I notice that a pair of barn swallows have taken over the nest that the northern rough-winged swallows built last year under the eave of the house next to the porch. They are continuously twittering in their energetic way as they swoop and swerve, taking turns to gather food out over the hay field and return to their nest of clamboring chicks. Occasionally they rest on a nearby branch, twitching their tails up and down, as if impatient.
After a time, I watch a pair of bluebirds that have taken up residence in the house among the day lilies. In turns they silently sit on the board fence, descend rapidly in a flutter of wings to the grass below to scoop up an insect, and fly swiftly to the hole of the house to a chorus of tiny calls. I've been chasing the "new" neighbor's huge calico cat from its vicinity for a month now. I'm glad to know that the eggs have hatched and are now a hungry houseful.
At intervals, a woodpecker drums on a hollow tree... tap tap ratatata tap.... tat, turap, trrrrRrrrrrrap, tat, tat, tap! The canada geese on the pond announce their landing with raucous honking. A tree frog croaks intermittently. A fox calls regularly. A cow lows across the road. A horse nickers. Above, a small jet whines.
A tiny wren distracts me with its whistles and trills from the nearby crabapple tree. As I watch his jerky, rushing movements, a pileated woodpecker calls from the edge of the woods. A cardinal chips at intervals. A robin sings his bedtime cheerio. A flicker churrs, and a catbird rehearses his repertoire amid a chorus of woodland birds.
A breeze rustles the trees along the driveway, and suddenly I'm cold. I notice that the swallows have ceased their flitting and chatter now. I look to the bluebirds. In the dimming light, one bluebird sits on the top rail of the fence. The other one is out of sight. The woodpecker's drumming has finished. All the birdsong is slowly fading to an ensemble of frogs and crickets. The peepers' calls grow in volume. It is time that I go check on the chickens and then go in to face the inevitable evening tasks.
