Last week the lapwings returned. Though I have yet to hear one. When we driving to work, E. pointed out one in the field where the geese edge the horses from the good spots. Geese can do that. They are mean.
There are birds that overwinter here. Ducks, and sparrows mostly. And some blackbirds. But now all the blackbirds have returned. And they sing loudly all night. It is really wonderful. I even turned off the Dalai Lama’s favorite prayers this morning during yoga to listen to the blackbirds.
It seems the crows are more conspicuous these days, too. Carrion crows. Or they might be rooks. The sun should be up when I walk Leonard this morning, and I am armed now with the little checklist to see if I can spot the differences. Rooks, for example, have “feathered trousers”. I am going to keep an eye out for those.
Rook, Raven, Crow, or Jackdaw? It’s like a song stuck in my head.
But there is something special about the return of the lapwings. That they dare. They are on the “red list” and categorized as near-threatened. Tractors can crush and threshers shred their nests. But they keep returning, quietly blending into the landscape. Choosing this danger over that one.
Or maybe they’re just not able to see what’s coming. How many generations does it take to etch the new, inorganic world into a bird’s DNA?
At any rate, I will be listening for them this morning.