Shrike!

The day after Christmas when my husband and I went to Huntsville I saw, just up the road from our house, a quick glimpse of a Loggerhead Shrike dashing off the telephone wire into a tree. Yesterday, Morgan and I went on a mission to see if we could find him.

We nearly FROZE!!!

I didn't take many pictures because as I mentioned, WE WERE ON A MISSION!!

But I couldn't resist taking a picture of Nature's Christmas decorations!We walked past the Guinea neighbor's house and were a bit disappointed because that was where we were expecting to see the Shrike and we had to turn around because our eyes were watering from the biting cold wind.

When we did I saw a flash of Mockingbird colors but I knew that was no Mockingbird!

This was my Shrike and a "life" bird for me. My northern home only produced the Northern Shrike, one of my favorite winter birds.

The Loggerhead loves open fields and shrubby hedgerows with fences to hunt from. Loggerheads eat mice, lizards large bugs and "gulp" small birds. They impale their catch on thorns and barbwire for safe keeping. These next two images are heavily cropped as he kept his distance.On the way home we met a few Bluebirds who chatted to us but didn't pose!It was well worth the runny noses to get our Loggerhead confirmed. For the poem I wrote for my Northern Shrike please click on the title of this post!

Another Poem

Northern Shrike

When I look out at my feeder
and there's no finch in sight,
I know the masked
bandit is near.
He sits high in a tree
so farther to see,
filling his neighbors with fear.
For he is no robin,
no lark,
no dove,
He'll swoop down and catch you in flight.
So if you are small
you best be on the ball
or you might be dinner tonight.

Eve Sweatman

For Crist and Deb

Panda May

I have a friend whose dog passed on,
We cried sad tears that day.
Panda always brought a smile,
It was her spirit’s way.

Always waiting patiently,
For work, or family, or fun,
Whatever the job
She was sure to agree,
That it would soon be done!

“Get those cows”
“Get those birds”
Off she would race to be
The best darn cow dog,
The best darn bird dog
That anyone would ever see.

Bye sweet Panda,
We’ve left a bowl
In case you need a treat.
We’ll miss you dearly,
Because we know,
A better friend’s hard to beat.

By Eve for Deb and Crist

Warbler City

Each year at this time the Yellow-rumped and Palm warblers stop by my house to dine on the hoards of flies that congregate on my deck and porch. They've just arrived in time for the feast, so here’s to these bright beauties.Palm Warbler

~

See that tail,
That bright yellow rump,
Up and down it wags.
It’s silly to do
If there’s five of you,
You'll look like a
Row of flags.

In early spring
You sneak right through
Heading north you fly
And then in fall,
If we’re lucky at all
Your waging tail we’ll spy.

Sweet little warbler
With your bobbing tail
I’ll see you again this spring.
Keep yourself warm
In the south where you swarm,

Where warblers love to sing.

~

Eve Sweatman

Time for Another???

Tree Swallow

A mother’s job is
Never done,
She works so hard
Each day.

Her babies chirp
For hours on end,
So mom will bring food
Their way.

One at a time
They eat their fill,
All she must satisfy.

And by the time the last one’s
Chirping is done,
The first one begins

To cry!!

Poem by Eve Sweatman

Something Different...

I was recently visited by Denise at "An English Girl Rambles" http://anenglishgirlrambles.blogspot.com/

so of course went to visit her blog. What I found was a magical blog with beautiful photography, memories, wonderful poetry from the world's best poets and so much more.

In 2005 while in my Creative Writing college class I created a calender of bird poetry which was my final for that class.

The poems were written with children in mind but I've found that adults get quite a kick out of them as well.

So with Denise in mind, (this one's for you Denise), I thought I would post a poem every now and then.

Mallard

There's a drake in my pond

He's all by himself,

Why is he here everyday?

He paddles alone

for hours on end

and sometimes he flies away.

But he always returns

to my small little pond

the reason

I'm sure I don't know.

Until one day

he reveals to me

The reason that he didn't go.

His duck waddles out

from the thickest of weeds

with her nine little ducklings
in tow,

and my drake is so proud

and his duck quacks so loud,

so happy her family

to show!

By Eve Sweatman