There is a bird which looks like a fluffy pinecone sitting in my windowbox.
The plants which once grew in it are long since dead, and though there is one pot of basil left standing, most of that's gone, too. This enormously round little bird has settled in, just beneath the last of the sweet smelling leaves. It's head movements look like little automatronic frameshifts; there does not appear to be any real movement, it's just -- his head is in one place and then it's somewhere else.
The fuzz beneath his throat looks soft and downy. When the little guy makes his whoopy hooping sound, it pulses like a tiny wave.
His beak looks like the stem on the end of a pinecone.
So here we are, sharing a bit of morning sunshine with each other, listening. He's calling back to all the other birds outside, and I'm calling, in my way, to all you little birds.
He was just joined by a slimmer version of him! His wife?!
ARE THEY MAKING A NEST IN MY POTS? Oh, how I hope they are!
OH NO! In came a much bigger, scary blue marsh bird, eating seeds from my one healthy basil plant, and chased the little guys away! Marsh bird's markings were beautiful, it's true, but he seemed so... violent. His motions were charged with something I didn't like very much. And he made my bird friends go away.