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Beiträge, die mit Wrensday getaggt sind


I spotted my first Pacific wren (ever!) hopping around the outskirts of the river inlet yesterday. Such a handsome little secretary, hopping all over the twiggy typewriter keys of the marshlet detritus. #Wrensday
Photo of a mass of sandy brown sticks and sere reeds and rushes at the foot of a ragged, shadowy stump. Perched, round as a little walnut, under a single bullrush that bends over em like a tent, is a tiny brown wren with a warmly dappled breast and a tail that barely peeks up like a rough fan behind em (eir tail is very short for a wren's). The little wren--a Pacific wren--is leaning slightly forward over two tiny pink feet (with even tinier, mealworm-y toes) and looking off to our right, showing off a little white eyebrow and a thin, decurved bill. The cold winter sun is shining brightly all around em.


Wrens always strike me as wonderfully twitchy little wind-up figures. Can you feel the energy stored up in this little bit of #Wrensday clockwork?
Photo of a small, round bird with a grey breast and a brown back and wings standing in right-facing profile, turned away from us but looking up and off to eir right with clear-eyed focus and intensity. E has a whitish-grey eyebrow stripe above that focused eye, and a thin, slightly decurved bill that pokes out like a record needle or very long carraway seed. Eir legs, thin brown stems with tiny talons, are planted firmly apart on the top of the silver railing of chain-link fencing on which e sits, eir speckled brown tail held pertly out behind em for balance so that, aligned with eir gaze and bill, e is like a little arrow pointing to three o'clock. This little bird is the so-called Bewick's wren, and you can almost feel the precision of eir borbed-up energy in eir stance, a little figure of feathery clockwork wound and ready to throw back eir head and sing, sing, sing.