A meadowlark sang from the top of one of the poplars we planted in the yard. They usually restrict themselves to the height of power poles, but there he was until he flew down to the play equipment and strutted beak lunging forward under the six swings, the hanging ladder, and rings, and bar, and under the slide. I quietly called him a beauty… I didn’t want to disturb him, but had to say it out loud. He flew up to perch on the top bar and oh so quietly I asked for a song which he delivered to the back drop of woodpeckers, magpies, mourning doves, finches and nighthawks.
A blackbird, I fear it may have been a starling, made regular trips to the tree with building material… back and forth, back and forth. I saw it carry a beak full of a huge clump of grass… big intentions. My studio is full of materials too… more big intentions.