|More body than beak!|
I'd not really paid much attention to the front porch nests--out of sight, out of mind, you know--but this year I've had a front-row, well living-room sofa, view of the story.
|Sitting the nest, before the eggs hatched.|
Once the eggs were laid, they seemed to alternate sitting the nest, leaving it entirely for only a few minutes at a time.
When the eggs finally hatched, they were occasionally swooping around the yard and house, returning to stuff something into the tiny upturned beaks.
|The swallow version of the Berlin airlift.|
The beaks grew little round heads that peeped from the nest when the parent was late with a tasty snack.
|Will the silly humans|
ever go inside?
Now, those tiny heads have grown round, fluffy bodies. They don't really fit in the nest anymore. Someone always has to sit on the edge. Not yet sleek and shiny like their parents, the babies' feathers are bristly and random--like a bad case of bed-head (or is it nest-head?).
|Preening requires a lot of room!|
|How much longer will the fledglings stay?|
Your nest, at last empty, will stand silent witness to your faithfulness, but it will have served its purpose.
Take wing, parents, and soar and swoop and sing.
You've earned it.
How are things in your nest?