There is something fascinating about the mother of sticks, the stump. This former tree has seen things, many dark and terrible things. It’s probably seen it all, from high winds, floods, and fire. What finally brought about the slow demise of this eroding landmark?
My spouse is a little concerned about my fascination with all things sticks. I mean, they’re just the broken ruins of a tree, right?
“Right?” asks the hawk, who sits upon what will one day be a stick ripe for photographing.
You can even see a few sticks in the making clinging to the branch, although not for long. The next good wind will drive them back to the Earth, where the cycle of life will begin once again.
Food for thought. Just don’t become food for the hawk.
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All birbs that show up on this blog are birbs regardless of species. Birbs are birbs are birbs. If you want to identify this birb, you can reference Cooper’s hawks and sharp-shinned hawks. It’s one of those two. Maybe. Possibly. (No, I don’t want you to identify the birb.)
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