Nest-Building Robin

Half-dried bits of grass and leaves landed on my head when I stepped out the front door. There, in the niche, was a nearly completed nest. I got the stepladder and checked---no eggs yet. As I stood on the ladder, a robin landed nearby, beak full of grass trimmings meant for the nest. She remained there, glaring at me while the guilt rose inside me. How pleased that robin must have been to locate such a prime piece of real estate sheltered by our porch, where she could build her home while avoiding that day's rain. Sadly, I swept away the nest while she watched. She started two more nests that day. We had to get some bird repellent. I hope that the robin was finally  able to safely build her home. Every time I go out in the yard, I wear a hat, knowing that there is one bird who probably has it out for me. 

Late Blooming Cherry Trees

The Japanese cherry trees that line the Tidal Basin were at their peak last weekend and then fell victims to the rain and wind. Now it is time for their late blooming cousins to show off their sturdier, pinker blooms. A row of them lines one side of a local middle school. Although these fine trees are in their prime, they will be cut down as soon as construction starts on an elementary school that will share the property. How many students have walked under those trees, reveling in the surrounding pinkness, or have stood under them in wonder as the petals floated down around them? Now they are victims of cost efficiencies. Goodbye, beautiful cherry trees.

Three Arcs

My annual contemplation of the Air Force Memorial has me resisting the urge to look up. This time, I am looking straight ahead, at how gracefully the bases of the three silver arcs frame the view of the Washington Monument. Triangles are everywhere, delineated in the paving and repeated in the pyramidal structure of the arcs. Those slightly curving upward lines are a fine counterpoint.

Luggage Corral

Hotels often have an overflow area where they keep the bags of those who arrive too early to check in or who have not yet left town. It's impossible for me to not anthropomorphize the bags left in a luggage corral. With perky, claim-ticketed handles, those bags seem eager to go wherever their owners will take them. The crayon-colored suitcases have a higher flamboyance quotient. Perhaps they contain metallic stilettos and sequined tops meant for day wear. What about all the plain black carry-ons and twenty-four-inchers? Do some of them feel insignificant, longing for a sparkly I.D. tag or strips of florescent pink duct tape? Or are they glad to blend in with the crowd, hiding in plain sight, keeping their startling contents under wraps?