Feeding a flock of pine siskins, we have hung a platform next to the bird feeder but farther down, outside the low cut picture window in the living room. The tray is newly filled with seeds as slowly they arrive, first a half dozen then twice that, until suddenly the air is filled with their comings and goings. They are constant motion, hopping about on the tray, pecking and chewing, arriving and departing. They flutter, hovering in the air by the feeder, landing in ones and twos, displacing others. The larger picture is one of frenetic movement with birds flying from cedar trees to the feeding station and back, passing both directions. The ground under the window accommodates many searching the ground and snow for seeds and bits of seed. Never still for long, they line the tree branches, taking a momentary rest. Occasionally two, at feeder or tray, will challenge each other, their little bodies upright, beek to beek and belly to belly with wings opened and quickly flapping, until one relinquishes it's spot. I've seen one clear the tray of six or seven others by rushing at them in turn, until only she was left at the feast. When she flew off, the tray would quickly repopulate.
Mia, my small long haired beige cat with blue eyes and black face, is fascinated. Alternately excited and discouraged, she sits with tail switching and mouth moving rapidly making little quiet sounds. She pounces at the window glass when a bird dares to walk along the window ledge which is littered with seeds. She settles draped on the arm of a big soft chair, eyes narrowed but watching it all. Oliver, her brother, a big orange tabby sleeps on my knee, for the moment unaware of the drama unfolding. When I get up, now disturbed from sleep, he becomes an active window hunter also.
At any moment some unknown energy can cause the siskins to suddenly and all together in one syncronized movement fly swooping upwards then over to land in farther removed trees, as if led by one spirit; one great intuitive understanding. Instantly all will be still at the feeding station – not one bird. Slowly, moments or several minutes later they trickle back, first one then six until the whole vista is vibrating with their movement once again.
Putting out seed for them every day has become a pleasure and I wonder if this winter will be remembered as the winter of the siskins or will they come again next year ?
Radha
