OLD BIRDERS' PROVERB: An Offshore Wind Flatters No Standing Ducks

This is the third consecutive day of wind and rain. In some ways I don't mind, since an offshore wind means less work for me. I don't have to squeegee muddy Lake Erie spray off the back windows. But it can be very difficult on the birds. One time it blew so fiercely I watched it sweep a house sparrow completely off her feet and somersault her over backwards, like that little Woodstock bird in the Peanuts cartoons. This time, an unexpected gust whipped a starling right off the tree with the suet cage. I just happened to be trying for a photo of another bird when it happened, and caught the startled starling, too. What looks in the photo like graceful flight is really some fast and desperate course correcting!






And then there's the ducks. My pair of mallards stopped by and basked in a brief moment of sun that broke through the clouds. Sitting with one's back to the wind works if one remains seated, like the female, but stand up, like the male, and the wind does the most unflattering things with feathers. Talk about a wide load!






When the rain took a break, I popped out out to get the mail. We never get any pigeons around here, but I thought the beaded water on an oil spot in my parking area made pretty pigeon colors, so I went back for my camera. While it certainly wouldn't count as a sighting for anyone's Life List, after three soaking days, I'm getting desperate for something with a hint of color! I suppose I shouldn't complain; you don't have to shovel rain...

PERFECT GRAY

If you had been here this morning, you would have noticed how perfect it was outside. A soft rain dampened the empty fields across the road, and on the lake, a mixed flock of Barrow’s and Common Goldeneyes preened themselves between dives. Then fog moved in, gathering everything in its arms. Your hair would have been covered with a fine mist, and it would have felt like breath against your cheek, as if the weather was sharing a secret with only you. The day was the perfect gray of water in the glass you rinse your watercolor brushes in. The only color you would have seen was the brief flash of a Red-winged blackbird and the dusky blueberry glow of a Jay among the wet lilac buds.