The Cal Falcons are hatching. Three fuzzy white chicks are tucked beneath their mother, Annie. A fourth egg may hatch soon. Annie dozes, white lids covering her open eyes. A stiff breeze ruffles her feathers as well as the debris scattered about the nesting box: feathers, bones, offal, the remains of songbirds. From time to …
Last spring, I watched a mated pair of mocking birds, with clumps and long strands of grass in their beaks, drop by turn into the decorative tree in my neighbors’ front yard. When they were absent, I would sneak a peek, try to spot the nest, but I never could. It was well hid. The …
Dawn, Day Break, First Light. I’ve been reading these phrases my whole life. They are interchangeable and describe that hour or so of diffuse light as our place on earth rotates toward the sun, a period of increasing lightness while the sun still remains below our horizon. But it is there, the sun, and we …