The weather has been gray, wet and chilly. I ache more and my mood reflects it. Gray. The news has been so black (no pun intended about oil) I've not felt like commenting on it. Even the birds around here are gray. Or brown. Except the occasional Meadowlark or Western Bluebird. Even they aren't as colorful as their eastern cousins.
I miss having my dear old Bacchus to dote on so I've been taking particular delight with the onslaught of baby birds. The shrubs surrounding our house have become an entire neighborhood for them. At last count I found two Blackbird nests and one Robin's all full of new borns. There was the Killdeer nest with young a few weeks back. I take my life in my hands from protective parents when I get anywhere near. Lawn mowing has become quite a challenge. But you know what? They too are, well, gray.
So imagine my delight this morning as I looked out the window to see if the rain had eased enough to check on the plants in my green house. A rustle of wings and swaying of branches in a willow and a small bird appeared. Then another. And they weren't gray! They were brilliant. They were beautiful. I rushed to the den and dug out my bird book and hurried through the pages.
Western Tanagers. Oh, how I hope they become part of the 'hood!