Building a Nest

A crinkly piece of plastic flew by me this afternoon as I walked up my driveway. This streamer-shaped plastic took me by surprise because it was rattling and frantic, almost as if it were alive. My son and I followed it to the front yard, alarmed and entertained, where we found it already woven into the branches inside one of our azalea bushes. Surely, it had to be attached to something alive.

"There it is," he said, pointing into the shrub. A little bird hopped about, agitated by the situation. Was it injured? No, I checked his legs and wings. Then, in a split second, he bit the plastic with his beak and he flew out between us, a fluttering tendril behind him. He headed straight for the neighbor's car and hid there while we looked on, wondering where he was headed.

Next, he made a break for it, though his flight was hampered by his cargo. He did not soar, but he flew like I fly in dreams, in frustrated fits and spurts. Still, he made it up to the second story window of a neighboring house, right through a narrow crack beneath the shutter. I've never noticed this shutter before, but I noticed today the cracking paint, and especially the threads of dried grass, shimmering tinsel, and shreds of newspaper peeking out of both sides.

She didn't seem pleased that we were an audience to her tough trip home today, but I feel lucky to get a glimpse of her world. What kind of home has she built in there? Is she preparing to lay her eggs? Will we see her carrying worms and other tasty treasures to her baby birds the next time we see her?