I saw a kestrel the other day perched on the telephone wire, hunting, ready to take off and kill something. He knows it’s March, even though it was –10 degrees F (–23.3° C) when I woke up this morning. Very unMarchlike. I hope he found a yummy mouse or vole and is still out there surviving this.
I spotted a few kestrels over the winter, but one really starts to see them here this month, up on the wires, spaced evenly between territories. Tim and I can also count on seeing a pair every year in a farmer’s field behind our house. They nest in a tall dead elm trunk. More than once we’ve had our binoculars on them while they were mating. I’m not sure what that says about us, exactly, but I can’t say we weren’t into it.
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4 comments:
I never understood why people became bird-watchers, but you're certainly presenting some convincing arguments.
My grandfather called every bird of prey a chicken hawk. Too much bugs bunny, I guess.
Good one Indigo.
My 15 year old daughter was asking me the other day how birds mate. She's seen them do it, but cannot figure out the logistics.
CW: I'm not sure I can either, really.
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