Common Birds 37 - Cedar Waxwing

Thursday, June 15

Work has been full of rushing and hanging off, preparing for me to go on paternity leave. Unfortunately, this has pushed birds to the margins of my time, just those moments of moving between buildings, and going to and from my car. Fortunately, birds reward richly any attention we can give them, even when slight.

One morning, I was a storm cloud of focus rolling into the office, planning what I had to do and playing with math in my head. Then I stopped. Orioles were yelling. Crows were croaking. I turned around. In the crown of a tree, two glossy crows stood defiantly against a swarm of orioles who were hopelessly defending their territory. I waited, knowing what would happen next. From the cattails, a single red-winged blackbird, defender of the realm, winged into the fray. I knew the smaller, red-shouldered bird was going to drive off the crows, because they always do, but it was still amazing to see those two massive beasts routed by a single, undaunted red-winged blackbird. 

The air of the small, post-industrial city where I live is now filled with swifts and swallows. They paint the sky with bold, sweeping strokes, looking for insects to eat.

My favorite conference room is 3B. It’s close enough to this great oak that the room feels enclosed by the leaves, and you can look right into the tree’s heart. Whenever I’m the one doing the scheduling, the meeting is going to be in 3B. Often I see blue jays and robins in the boughs, but when I was training a new employee on some of my code, I was blessed to watch a nuthatch work his way over the branches, spiraling around the branches like the moon around the sun.

Once, when I was walking between the two buildings that I work in, I found a nuthatch on the sidewalk. She was young and fluffy, like her feathers still wanted to be down. I crouched next to her and asked if she needed any help. She was favoring her right foot which has an injured toe. After a time though, she decided she was okay and flew to a thin, decorative tree. Her foot held, even if a little loosely, and we both went on our ways.

Those same trees now are filled with cedar waxwings most mornings.

And then yesterday, walking between the different buildings of my apartment complex, I heard the same cricket like chirp of cedar waxwings. The sycamore trees in the middle of the old mills were covered with the sleek, creamy yellow-brown birds. Black masks covered their eyes, transforming the branches for a moment into a mysterious soirée. I ran upstairs, got Amelia, and brought her down so she could see them too.

Hopefully, next week I can get out and see more birds. If not, it looks like they’ll meet me more than half way.