I am safely ensconced in my very nice room at the Marianist novitiate house at Mt. St. John’s in Dayton, Ohio.
Raccoons, skunks, squirrels, a coyote or two, wild geese, rabbits. Cardinals, red-winged blackbirds. Savannah and prarie. Dogwoods, spirea, peonies, snowdrops, tulips, iris: creamy white, claret.
Brother Don told many fascinating stories about birds’ nests. He once, at great personal peril, fetched down the abandoned nest of a Baltimore oriole to find, woven among the dun-colored moss, plant fibers, and twigs, a single blue thread. Hummingbirds make their nests of feathers, plant fibers, and spider silk, then often encrust the entire outside with bits of lichen. And the cardinal always starts the nest with a leaf in the bottom—and if a leaf can’t be found, they’ll substitute a piece of cellophane from a cigarette pack.