The Wren

The wren's song woke me this morning. I can't really call it "our" wren yet, since I know from experience how fickle they can be when choosing a nesting area and how overly hopeful I am that one will choose our yard (even our wren house) to lay eggs and raise its young. For years I've celebrated when I'd see one pop in and out of one of the wren houses in the yard, only to be disappointed that it hadn't stayed. I mourned its choice to nest elsewhere and could enjoy its melody only when passing someone else's yard. But his year despite all the rain, all the struggles to replant winter "burned" grass, all the cold and morning fog, one just might be hanging out with us for awhile--literally.

As I began the shift into summer, I'd forgotten about the brightly painted gourd that doubled as a bird house--found it hanging in the garage and knew it would add a bit of color to the patio, if nothing else. So I hung in the breeze under the eaves and enjoyed the swirling colors as I read on the loveseat and enjoyed the lake's shimmer.

But then last week I was shocked and pleased to see a wee bit of a bird hop into the gourd to look around. Then I saw it a second time, then a third. Could it be? A wren? Here? I didn't hold much hope until Pete noticed one trying to pull a six-inch twig into the one inch diameter opening--which didn't fit naturally and fell to the patio ledge. But now and then we've seen it trying to add to the nest. We'll have to be patient. I try not to be overly hopeful, but by now there are nearly a dozen twigs that've not made it into the nest and are lying beneath the little house. Stay tuned...