A paean to the Blue Tit...

Today is Wednesday. As I sit in my arm chair by the window, I enjoy watching the world go by. Clouds stream from north to south, following the line of mountains, known as Les Espinouses, which lie to our west, and the breeze gently ruffles the fresh green leaves of the garden oak and acacia trees. I notice that the mixed hedge that we planted by the fence three years ago is suddenly growing well, and that the wild broom that we cannot bear to remove, is resplendent with golden flowers. While the village sleeps in the valley below us, our local church stands out proudly. Soon the matin bells will ring out and remind me that it is time to prepare lunch, but meanwhile the morning passes idly by. Today I am writing my blog. Another time I may write an email or two, or catch up with the morning news. There is work to be done of course, but it can wait .

But what was that?

A sudden flash as something passes by my window at speed, and then it's gone. And shortly afterwards that flash again in the opposite direction. It is one of our pair of blue tits in search of food for their young . If I stroll outside I will see their destination. To and fro between the nesting box and the trees they both flit, delivering food to their young: a caterpillar perhaps, or a seed from the fat balls that hang from the balcony. Then , before I can blink my eyes, they are off again, like darts fired towards a board. As I idle away the morning, these diligent parents are frantically feeding their fast growing fledglings. Each one will receive up to a hundred caterpillars per day. I fear their chicks may grow so fat they will be unable to leave the tiny nesting box hole. I shall watch carefully, and hope to catch their first flight. It will be as well if Léo is out of range.

Fledged

Today I resume my blog. But I have a sad tale to tell. It is Thursday,and the blue tits are still coming to feed at the fat balls outside my window. But now they dally, and fly away in a different direction. When I go to survey the nesting box all is still. It would seem that the blue tits have already fledged. Bravo to their busy and diligent parents. They have done a splendid job, busily seeking out food for their young for three long weeks after the eggs hatched. But I notice a small figure lying on the gravel beside our pond. Sadly one of their brood failed to make it. I pick it up and stroke its soft yellow breast feathers . Alas, this little masked bandit will not be coming to feed at our balcony next winter. But then, I suppose, that is how things will always be in the forest.