Goldfinches

It was a dreary morning, rather cold, and I was a bit sullen. I was walking my usual birding trail but was thinking about hot coffee. I heard the Amtrak whistle as I did most mornings, about 0830, perhaps 5 miles to the east. There is a C-shaped pond on this trail with a small deck overlook. I was standing there listening to a rich tangle of bird song from the nearby foliage. Hearing it but not seeing the birds, which is what happens as May progresses. The new leaves start hiding the birds, making visualization harder. The vocalization is tantalizing, and good birders easily identify birds by sound alone. Not me, unfortunately. And more and more breeding and migrating birds arrive every day. May is the birder's month in these latitudes.

A tree had fallen over the pond and wasn't submerged but was nearly horizontal across the water, a few feet above the surface. There were dozens of smaller branches, some of which did actually dip into the water. The pond was covered with mottled green pond scum. I often think that if my binoculars fell into this turtle-infested (and who knows what else) mushy murk, I would never try to retrieve them. I could not imagine setting foot in that primal water.

I listened and listened to the rich bird music, a bit mesmerized. Too often, I get impatient and cannot stand quietly for even 5 minutes which is something I am working on. And all at once, there were two goldfinches perched on the smaller branches of the fallen tree, about a foot above the water, right in front of me. The males are striking little birds, bright yellow with a black skullcap and black wings. As I watched, it was obvious they were after either sips of water or bits of pond scum. They hopped down the small branches until they were within reach and would dip back and forth into the pond, like one of those toy water birds. It was quite a stretch for them and they had to maneuver a bit to stay balanced on the thin twigs. It was the contrast that was so lovely: the tiny bits of yellow and black, the green pond scum, the grey, leafless branches, the cloudy day.

I looked across the pond--to the inside of the C shape--and a green heron with bright orange legs was silently moving in plain sight along the bank right across from me.

And a Northern Waterthrush briefly stepped out into full view as for my own personal bird fashion show, its pale yellow, black-streaked belly very evident, contrasting with its unmarked dark grey back and wings. This bird is another mud-skulker, moving through the wet dank places where water meets land.