April 18, 2017
On a spring Tuesday I am hunting for nests. Mostly so I can recite this poem….
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round—
Wherefore when boughs are free—
Households in every tree—
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high—
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires—
Perhaps of twig so fine—
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires—
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house—
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
Of course I found neither wrens nor larks, but was rewarded by the humming bird nest!
And the heron rookery
another osprey
If there are no nests there are holes in the tree
And if that fails there are nesting boxes from which you can sing to this:
