How Sweet it Is

The back porch where we keep the barn boots is abuzz with Carolina wrens. Such noise! Such drama! I cut a porthole in the plastic over the screen door the other day, in order to be able to look out when it is warm, but not lose all its insulation and wind break value when it gets cold again.

I thought they were complaining about a cat and so shut off the inside light so they wouldn't see me and tiptoed over to see what was causing the commotion.

No cat. Just love in the air. She is perched on an old bar of metal outside the window. He is flying in and out of the porch with a bit of some sort of fluff, trying to convince her that the half-built nest inside the hard hat is a condo on the beach. 

She is looking at him like he is nuts and nattering about moving to Nantucket.

Such wealth! Not only did the silly things survive the winter, but they are setting up housekeeping ten feet from my kitchen sink. 

Did I mention that they are loud? He is alternating between something like the buzz of a distant jack hammer and the beeping of a backhoe in reverse. They make me laugh.