Spring has sprung,
The grass has riz.
I wonder where the birdies is.
Dorky poem perhaps, but a staple of my childhood. I can still see my father's grin as he recited it.
Bruce asked Santa for, and received, a book on birds of the West Coast. It's since sat handy to his telescope, coffee cup and comfy chair. It turns out that we have quite a selection of birds in our yard, and Bruce has said that he'll do his best to capture some of them on film for me.
So, the answer to my father's perennial poetry query is ... the birdies is in our backyard. ::grin::
I've misidentified this bird in my files, so I'll need t fix it .. this isn't a ruby-throated hummingbird - the rubies are on the other coast and like warmer climates than do Anna's. This particular bird likes the very top of our arbutus tree; apparently he's set himself up as a sentry for the yard and he can certainly view the whole zone from this perch. He's quite ferocious with that long beak and the other birds are very wary of the little guy. He must be the chihuahua of the bird species.
I've never even heard of towhees before last month. Now it appears that this bright little fella is one of many who visit our yard, along with assorted swallows, chickadees, finches, wrens and other sparrows. Normally, the spotted towhees spend their time on the ground in the leaf litter, so catching him on a branch was a stroke of luck. That, and the mating season when males grab a good vantage point to sing songs for their ladies. After all, in spring a young bird's fancy turns lightly to thoughts of love ... if you'll allow me to shamelessly abuse Alfred Lord Tennyson for my own amusement.
Enjoy!
Also, the poem quoted at the start is known as "Spring in the Bronx" by Anonymous. Isn't the internet wonderful?
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