Two mourning doves have nested on the floor of my apartment balcony. Two because the male and female birds, mother and father, take turns sitting on the eggs in twelve-hour shifts. I think the babies just hatched because the gestation period of two weeks is over, and because if I look closely, albeit quickly, I think I see a few baby feathers under whichever parent is on the nest. This is the way the parents protect the newborns, by keeping them under wraps for three or four days.
The wet woodlands behind my home are full of loud bird noises all day and night. Grackles, cardinals, crows, gold finches, blue jays, sparrows and hummingbirds chase one another with the abandon of the season. Owls and falcons, too, though they are largely hidden.
Everyday, I peek on the nest, hoping the family makes it. It has been rough weather with wind, gale, gust, alternating with sunny calm. Even now as I type, the sun alternates with flakey snow. Another week should see them safely off. Meanwhile, tiny tree frog has taken residence in one of the flower pots, and a fat bumble bee flies about.
I am so lucky to live in this bounty, this beauty.
…and it has rained all afternoon. It is raining right now, on the four bags of compost lying in my garden, waiting to be amended into the soil. Yes, April showers. But the seed packets have to wait: four types of poppies, the lettuce that should have already be sown. Why am I receiving a call from Fort Lauderdale? I know no one in Fort Lauderdale. Why are not telemarketers not looking at the sky and not calling because their potential customers might be at the window watching it rain on unopened compost bags? Or do they use weather reports and schedule their calls for inclement weather, knowing their potential customers are at home most likely? Are the telemarketers pretending to be from Fort Lauderdale because they know they already are well into spring if not summer, and laugh as they call, eying chlorinated pools and mai tais? What is a mai tai? Is it an April-mocking drink? Is there no end to this rain?
Sky before storm
It is about to storm. The leaves are rustling like seeds in a gourd, like new silk saris. Fog has partially covered the Monument, and the sky is wash of white. One cat sleeps with a paw over her eyes, and another listens, alert, to the hammering of construction in the distance. A car goes by, gathering speed. Here is the thunder, low.