I, paparazzi.

14 05 2009

I went out after dinner to cut down a pair of fallen-down out-of-control ugly ornamental trees that are chocking the yard on one side of the driveway. Defintely the wrong plants in the wrong place. I got the chainsaw started (yay — sometimes this is hard after it’s been away for a while), but needed to lop some branches to get close enough to the trunk. I’m snipping away and what do I see? A big nest tucked away in the branches and, holding herself as still as can be — but with a careful eye on me — a momma robin sitting on her eggs. I’m close enough to reach out and touch her (of course I don’t) but she is as still as the dead. She’s pressed down into the nest, her head arched up and her tail tufting up the other side. Did I mention she was motionless? In fact, I’d expect a dead bird to show more signs of life (false though they might be) than this bird does.

I run and get the camera, but pointing that big eye of a lens at her freaks her out and she swiftly wings away, only to return and squawk desperately and flutter about the branches on the other side of the tree when I maneuver closer to the nest. So I quickly snap this paparazzi shot of the eggs and run off so she can get back to brooding.
robin's eggs

After that, I take a bunch of pictures of the clouds and the sunset and the forest in the growing gloom.

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