Shortly after the arrival of Spring, a swallow's nest of mud and clay appeared under the eaves on the side of our house. Fortunately it was located in an area rarely travelled so bird poop below was not an inconvenience. What fun it was watching the small mates flying back and forth--especially active early morning and twilight. They were little brown and tan birds with a touch of pale yellow.
A few weeks later we had a cold spell that was close to freezing with fierce winds. To my horror, I discovered two dead baby birds on the deck with a bit of mud scattered around them. Had they died and been pushed out by their parents to leave the remaining healthy babes to thrive?
I had noticed more than two swallows flying to the nest recently. After doing a bit of research, I learned that other juvenile swallows will raid other nests to steal the food brought for the babies. So perhaps their deaths were a result of decreasing food supply, as well as cold and wind.
About a week after that, we had another fierce storm with heavy winds and rain. The next morning, as I stepped out on my deck to enjoy the clear skies and warm sun, I noticed my swallows frantically flying back and forth, making a noise that can only be described as a panicked cry for help. I dashed to the side to discover the entire nest smashed to pieces and three dead babies. Worse than this sight was watching helplessly as the parents repeatedly flew to the site of their nest crying out over and over again--not just that day, but for several days afterwards.
On occasion, they still swoop up and perch under the eaves and just sit. I wonder if they'll build there again or if their intuition will tell them that that is definitely not a good spot.
I am seeing on a daily basis that while there is beauty and joy in nature, there is also tragedy and heartbreak.
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