When O gets a "Find of the Day," he snaps a picture and reports to me when I get home. With that grin of his, he told me to check the camera as soon as I walked in the door this afternoon. Before I could get to it, he directed me to the window to see his prize in the flesh: a Baltimore Oriole on the window ledge, pecking and flailing and singing her heart out--a lovely song--reacting to her reflection in the glass. She'd been at it most of the day.
We set an orange slice on the glider on the front deck, and after a few tentative slurps, she really took to it. But still, the frantic behavior and pecking continued, this time leaving orange juicy beaks marks on the pane. Torn between pity for her apparent anxiety and annoyance at the persistent tap-tap-tapping, I hoped she'd stop by nightfall. Then, just before dark, a dashingly handsome male appeared, with jet black head and back and vivid orange breast. Whoa. If I were that hen, I would swoon, for sure. The racket stopped. I like to imagine they've taken to the treetops for the evening, together.
I walked outside at sunset. A breeze caught ripe maple keys and sent several dozen far from the parent tree, helicoptering to the ground.
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