I wanted to write an elegy, a serious reflection on watching a black-headed grosbeak die on my porch. There was the thud, and the plop, and the ruffles, not to mention the tiny yellow feathers, when the bird hit the window. There were my exclamations and futile attempts to call a bird rescue center, if one even existed in my mountain town. But mostly there were the painful seconds and minutes that slowly ticked as the grosbeak stopped its desperate attempts to fly and succumbed to whatever serious internal injuries it suffered when it thought the bright reflection of my forested front yard was a safe space to fly and feed and live out this part of its summer. As I grasped for an appropriate funeral and as if on queue, the Laurel and Hardy of my yard, an acorn woodpecker and a Woodhouse's scrub jay, appeared on the scene to distract me. The clownish woodpecker squawked because it wanted to feed on suet, the smart aleck jay squawked because it wanted one more pean...
I'm an Arizonan that enjoys the outdoors through traveling, hiking, mountain biking, snorkeling, photography and just looking out my window.