Birds by the Sycamore Creek

Resting in my anti-gravity chair one-quarter mile from the spot where settlers first arrived here in 1795, I am situated in the bank of honeysuckle bushes, elm, sycamore, walnut, grape vines and ivy of various kinds watching birds.  At a temperature in the mid-80s, I am tempted to close my eyes for a nap. In the shade, it is comfortable so long as that cloud stays put to block the direct sun. Of course, clouds don't stay put.

Watching and listening for signs of anything that moves is the game here. A crow hunts along the creek by hopping from rock to rock. The black-throated blue warbler darts from my side of the creek to the other chasing his mate that is brown in color. A blue jay is higher in the trees as it seems to be in pursuit of a purpose.

The bird that has the greatest focus it looks are the woodpeckers. One has zeroed in on insects buried in the tree bark directly in front of me. I tried taking a picture with my camera, but the bird was circling the trunk, moving up and changing locations too fast. The only thing for me to do is to remember it so that I can create an impression. Here it is.

Bird Watching by James George