Readers, the noise level here at the Nest has really gotten out of hand. Wait, I made a pun without meaning to. My topic for today is birds. Lots and lots of birds. Swooping and whirling and squawking or whatever you call bird sounds that aren't singing or looking for a mate.
One of my gripes about this abode is all the traffic noise we are subjected to. Sirens and motorcycles and big trucks with grinding gears .... dear gussie it's wearing me out.
And now these blasted birds. I think they are starlings. They roost every night in the jungle of bamboo and weed trees that has taken over the backyard of the house across the street from us. The backyard that faces the front of our house. It's weird I know but that's how we roll in this hood.
In August Paul and I went down to 17th street to watch the purple martins coming home for their evening roosting. That was very impressive; a bird watcher there estimated 4000 birds came in that night, down from the high of 20,000 at their peak. They had started migrating by the time we went down there to see them.
Our birds start coming home about 6 pm. It takes about an hour for them to settle down. Lots of false starts (or stops) happen during this hour. Apparently there is some sort of protocol that must be followed before they can turn off the light and go to f***** bed. Then they wake up around 6:30 am and fluff their feathers and fix breakfast, all the while raising cain. The racket really is kind of frightening. I don't know where the hell they go all day and I don't want to know.
I've included photos but a video is needed to do justice to this bizarre twice a day event. It's loud. Come over and see it.
I have to go to bed now. No swooping or diving and screeching, I promise.
Taken from my sidewalk.
