loud bird [m4a]
(a little bit of echo makes it … very)
A tiny green birdlet with yellow eye rings hit our window, and the flew off a few minutes later.
A girl with a pink scarf sits asleep on the train, a tiny trickle of drool escaping from the corner of her mouth.
Not all of these could be classed as banjo tunes, but I’d want to try, anyway:
Our tree is filled with Ruby-crowned Kinglets, and the title is Peterson’s poetic description of them. I guess they’re feeding up to migrate a bit south. Give news of yourselves when you bring spring back with you!
There’s going to be some ranting here, so I advise folks to look at this nice picture of a monarch butterfly I took at Bluffer’s Park today, and move along:
In the park there was a gull that wasn’t moving like the others. I got close to it, and discovered there was a large fishing lure lodged through its beak. I had no way of helping it, and a nearby parks crew couldn’t do anything either. It could fly, just, but the big lure slowed it down, and the trailing fishing line mad it stumble.
I know gulls are often seen as nuisance birds, but no animal deserved
this fate. There’s no fishing and no kite flying in this park because there are so many birds. I’m angry that someone could be so thoughtless.
There’s a picture below the fold. You probably don’t want to see it.
This is good: Wind Blog » Blog Archive » On Birds.
Millions of birds perish every year from crashing into glass windows. And architects don’t need to do costly and time-consuming migration studies.
But us wind guys get it in the neck.
Went to Canzine today after meeting. Can you belive it, an almost full house and it was a silent meeting?
Anyway, Canzine was full. Bought a couple of Spacing TTC buttons to show my commuter tribe affiliation (Kennedy — Union), and also a m@b book. Eveyone’s favourite Bramptonian Friendly Rich was there, being friendly and well-dressed. Jim Munroe looked in his element in his No Media Kings room.
After that, I walked down to the turbine. The warm weather had brought the ladybirds out. They were all over the deck.
How lucky that Thunderbird uses the same text mail format for storing messages. All I needed to do was scp individual server directories from under .thunderbird to ~/Library/Thunderbird/Profiles/saltname.default/Mail — that did the job!
I didn’t use the shared global inbox that Thunderbird uses by default. If you do what I did, you probably shouldn’t either.
Walked by two agitated starlings. A third starling was on its back in the road, legs kicking. It looked like a fledgling, maybe fallen and couldn’t get up. I went over to pick it up. Red stuff had come out its head. A vehicle had hit it. The parents were hopping about, screaming. There was nothing I could do; nothing to pick it up with. Couldn’t dispatch it with sandals.
I walked back to the verge. There was another starling fledgling hiding in the grass, a sibling maybe. It had soft grey nest-fuzz among its feathers, the wide yellow slash of a nestling’s beak. It ran close to me for comfort, then stopped. Not all moving things might be friends. We watched one another, the parents still screaming. I had to leave.
red tail hawk flying over frozen credit river.
We found a dead sparrow (= speug, in Scots, pr. sp-yug) outside the front window when we took the recycling out. It had hit the window. Sorry, little dude.
So that’s me used six months of the avian mortality of the ExPlace wind turbine.