It seemed a thousand years that I had walked along this trail.
Much has changed in a few weeks of absence.
The swallowtail have returned in full force,
Their flight patterns still intact after these many years.
I spied a nest-box with twigs spilling out of its entry.
Inhabited no doubt.
Training my camera on the entry, I saw a bird fly in to my right periphery.
It was a wren. And it did not like me entering it’s space.
The bird had work to do. Mouths to feed. And this big lug was triggering the defense intuition ingrained from countless generations.
Birds typically have several communicative skills. Calling, singing, and warning are the basics. The wren’s sounds were most certainly warnings. Heated curses in human language. “Get out, stay away, can’t you see I have work to do?”
So brave is this little one, with babies calling. The power of instinct pushing it to accomplish an ancient wonder….the reproduction of life. I will never again venture too close if I can help it. I tried to apologize, but it was already away and looking for another meal.
Such are the experiences on the trail. A cathartic release for me. Life and death for others. Still, the sun set as always, darkness fell, and the cycle reset for yet another day.