Michael Dickson has bats. I have swifts. I would say I have the better part of the deal, but I also like bats. Swifts you can enjoy while the lights are still reflecting on the stage. Bats hide their antics in the night.
Not just any swifts. I have Vaux's swifts.
I would love to post a photograph of my local swifts, but the name describes the problem: they are swift. And that is just the start of what makes them fascinating.
One evening in early summer several years ago, I was working in the back yard and heard what sounded like the high, rapid sonar-like twitter of a bat -- or several bats. I looked up and saw fifteen to twenty birds literally zooming in wide arcs around the block where I live. As the sun began to set, I watched one bird tumble like a skydiver. It then hovered over my chimney, and fell in. I was amazed as the rest of the flock followed suit. I was landlord to a flock of swifts.
Every evening they would put on the same show. And I never tired of watching them as they swooped through the air catching a smörgåsbord of insects and "ballooning" spiders.
I even met two of them over the years up close and personal. (And, when on the ground, they are far easier to catch than Todd's hummingbird.) They fell into my firebox and made their way into the house. I set them free and closed the damper.
I already shared with you that I have been thinking a lot about solitude this week. Last night I was sitting in the hot tub enjoying a delightful evening as the sun set. And I noticed the swifts for the first time this year. I was literally being lulled watching the swifts circle -- when it hit me: I need to get a photograph for my blog. And I heard a voice say: "sit. relax. shalom." But I need to write something about this. "sit. relax. shalom." But my camera -- "sit. relax. shalom."
And I did. I watched as the sun continued to set and the street lights came on -- just in time for the bats to clock in. One swift went down the chimney. Then a second. But no more.
Are they the pioneers of the season?
Or the remnants of the flock?
I don't know. But the two of them are back, and I feel that much more at peace for sharing the moment with them -- and knowing that there is hope in the cycle of nature.
I keep discovering that I must learn the lessons of solitude and relaxation now -- not when I retire. Mexico does not need another graduate of the school of busy-ness.
If you would like to know more about Vaux's swifts, here is everything you could possibly want to know about swifts .
Not just any swifts. I have Vaux's swifts.
I would love to post a photograph of my local swifts, but the name describes the problem: they are swift. And that is just the start of what makes them fascinating.
One evening in early summer several years ago, I was working in the back yard and heard what sounded like the high, rapid sonar-like twitter of a bat -- or several bats. I looked up and saw fifteen to twenty birds literally zooming in wide arcs around the block where I live. As the sun began to set, I watched one bird tumble like a skydiver. It then hovered over my chimney, and fell in. I was amazed as the rest of the flock followed suit. I was landlord to a flock of swifts.
Every evening they would put on the same show. And I never tired of watching them as they swooped through the air catching a smörgåsbord of insects and "ballooning" spiders.
I even met two of them over the years up close and personal. (And, when on the ground, they are far easier to catch than Todd's hummingbird.) They fell into my firebox and made their way into the house. I set them free and closed the damper.
I already shared with you that I have been thinking a lot about solitude this week. Last night I was sitting in the hot tub enjoying a delightful evening as the sun set. And I noticed the swifts for the first time this year. I was literally being lulled watching the swifts circle -- when it hit me: I need to get a photograph for my blog. And I heard a voice say: "sit. relax. shalom." But I need to write something about this. "sit. relax. shalom." But my camera -- "sit. relax. shalom."
And I did. I watched as the sun continued to set and the street lights came on -- just in time for the bats to clock in. One swift went down the chimney. Then a second. But no more.
Are they the pioneers of the season?
Or the remnants of the flock?
I don't know. But the two of them are back, and I feel that much more at peace for sharing the moment with them -- and knowing that there is hope in the cycle of nature.
I keep discovering that I must learn the lessons of solitude and relaxation now -- not when I retire. Mexico does not need another graduate of the school of busy-ness.
If you would like to know more about Vaux's swifts, here is everything you could possibly want to know about swifts .
