The hazard of blogging in the early morning is that I find myself far more interested in the antics at my birdfeeder than in knitting or writing or any of my sundry other topics.
Mourning doves, I discover, do not like to be looked at — I may watch them out of the corner of my eye, but attempting to look at them directly sends them scattering off the edges of the balcony like so many mobile stones rolling away.
Chickadees do not mind – but they are only here to grab a bite and leave. They dive into the feeder (ignoring whatever other birds might be there), peck in once or twice, then depart with their spoils. Where I live is a tricky area for chickadees – the ranges of the blackcapped chickadee and the Carolina chickadee overlap, and the two birds can learn each other’s songs and interbreed, so I am never quite sure which bird I am seeing – or if it is both!
The house sparrows arrive in groups of six or so — the sedate brown lady sparrows wander around the balcony tidying up all the dropped seed, while the gentlemen with their black cravats bicker about who gets which perch on the feeder. They will linger until the squirrel disturbs them or I open the blinds.
I have only seen one gold finch today, a poor scraggly little fellow who looks as if the winter moult caught him before he had quite developed his adult plumage. I was glad to have the feeder up when I saw him.