Wren's nest

This nesting box has seen three seasons come and go, stubbornly remaining empty until this year, when a pair of tiny brown Wrens, each no bigger than a champagne cork, chose to make a home out of it. It is within six feet of a dining table under the large sash window in my living room, a cosy space which Sparkly and I call "The Snug."

At our meal times, we sit indoors, watching, fascinated, the repetitive feeding flights of the two tireless parent birds. They bring beaks full of wriggling snacks, which they find by grubbing about in the trees, bushes and flower beds up to thirty feet away. Dilligently, they remove undigested debris from the chicks. They keep a clean, orderly house. But their lazy, fat young are eternally selfish, mouths permanently agape, cheeping endless songs composed of few lyrics. "Feed me, feed me, me first, me, me me!" they cry, all day long. As soon as they hear me approach their nest with my camera, they open their beaks wide, poking their scrawny necks out through the mousehole-sized entrance, until I fear they will fall to their deaths.

I often imagine how I might light this dark corner of the yard outside, planning where I could set a tripod and a very long lens, without scaring the nervous birds away forever. I ponder how I could remotely trigger a camera, to get precisely the shot I want. Then I think "No. Leave it be, Peter. Just enjoy these moments for what they are: purely natural."

And nature is harsh. Already the sharp-eyed Magpies are prowling, searching for weaklings. There's no welfare society in the wild. I might have been the generous landlord putting up social housing for a brood such as this, but I won't be able to eliminate the risks involved in their first, essential flight to freedom when it happens.

Comments

[Pauline Clarke]

Recalling the snug and garden. This is a wonderfully described and reflective piece.

[Peter Bryenton]

Thank you, P. I always value your writerly praise. Full marks for spotting my current reflective mood.

[shara]

I love the shot of the open beaks. I wonder if wren parents get exhausted.

[Peter Bryenton]

I went out at 7-30 this morning, to make a picture I was going to call "Three beaks". When I got there, the youngsters had all flown the nest.
They were making such a racket last night, and there was barely room for them to move at all. I think mamma wren must have been on dawn patrol while I slept, making sure they all got their solo wings.

[herhimnbryn]

So pleased you captured this before they flew the coop.