ring from every tree

We have 2 wrens' nests outside the front door here on Moss Hill - one in a flower pot by the kitchen window, the other in a holly bush by the walk.  Here are the babies, last week:

Check out these feathered friends, from etsy::

birdzNbeez

byelena

circlelinestudio

claylicious

cottonbirddesigns

jackdawpilate

kissingkumquats

kittyempire3

ladylotus

Lana0Crystal

OIive

lovespelljewels

zinniadesignstc

lizix26

Carols of gladness ring from every tree.

~ Frances Anne Kemble

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

and they are beautiful

I have always loved birds, real and otherwise...

I have some vivid  and happy memories of birds from my childhood, specifically, a bird mobile that hung above my crib, and the fact that my father's nickname for me was "Jaybird."

Without really trying to I've ended up with a small collection of bird-themed things - little figurines, a print or two, some birdhouses. 

When J and I did The Big Thrift last weekend I remarked that, if I'd wanted to, I could have completed a collection of framed bird prints in one day - they were everywhere. Thinking about it a few days later I realized it's not a bad idea. 

mouse over images for source

I don't ask for the meaning of the song of a bird

 or the rising of the sun on a misty morning.

 There they are, and they are beautiful.  ~ Pete Hamill 

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/

the silent confirmation

pibloo.com

Starlings in Winter
by Mary Oliver

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

http://confessionsofasineater.blogspot.com/