The first on-camera red peregrine falcon egg of the season arrived in San Francisco yesterday, to much celebration and hope. San Jose’s Clara and EC have been getting their nestbox ready, scooping out depressions in the gravel just so, and EC has been bringing prey to his mate.
But nope, no synchronized laying this year between the two cities. (They did last year.)
I’ve been watching the male house finches’ feathers growing in a deeper and brighter red, changing quickly from the drab of winter to the intensity of courtship.
A goldfinch facing me today caught the sunlight just so across its chest: vivid yellow, with a slightly green sheen to it.
A woodpecker, I think a Hairy, has been tapping the tree outside my window, testing, testing, one two three days now. The more noise he can make the better his chances.
The little Bewick’s wrens are showing up in pairs frequently now and sharing the peanut-suet mix together as they skitter and flit by flick of tail. One is slightly rounder of belly and seems to occasionally get lost in a daydream, as expectant mothers do. I dare not touch the old lawnmower they seem to have claimed for their coming chicks, darting underneath it: they are gone from so much of their part of the Earth now, but we have them here.
And the season begins anew.