19 June 2023 (a line)

a line of eider chicks

undulates with each swell

. . . following seas

6 February 2021 (starfish)

low winter clouds

every eider comes up

with a starfish

March 30: Feels like spring

At last, a beautiful day that feels like spring. We head to Weskeag Marsh to see what birds have newly arrived, but the tide is high, the river banks filled to the brim, and we only see a single Great Blue Heron and a pair of crows.

Elsewhere, though, titmice, cardinals, and House Finches fill the mild air with song. Walking the boardwalk along the edge of Rockland Harbor, we hear pigeons cooing under our feet, tucked away in dank love nests under the walkway, presumably above the high water line. And in the harbor itself, close to shore, some drake eiders also coo, pitching the woo to the russet hens.

Driving home, we watch a crow fly over Route One with a long twig in its bill, presumably working on a  nest. Love is in the air. And that particular excitement we all feel this time of year when a day like this makes us feel certain that someday soon the snow will all melt, the ice will leave the ponds, and slowly, leaf buds will unfurl.

Heron hunched, alone,
the whole marsh to itself.
Soon, says the blue sky.

June 3: Rain in the spruce forest

This morning I and others led a bird walk for the Acadia Birding Festival on Acadia National Park's Ship Harbor Nature Trail as the rain fell and the tide came in. We could hear waves crashing from beyond the wall of spruce trees, and in the treetops, the tinkling notes of the kinglet's song. Small rafts of eiders rode the swells into the harbor, unbothered by rain, shielded by waterproof feathers. From amid the misty tangle of trees, a white-throated sparrow sang loud and clear. Wet sweet fern, crushed by fingers, seemed particularly pungent. Mosses burgeoned, green sponges massed over the forest floor. Water had formed a small pool at the root base of a fallen spruce, creating a wet cave--what might hide in there? Walking the rain-softened trail, our footsteps were dampened, allowing us to hear well the repeated song of the black-throated green warbler. In the dim light, half-concealed amid wet leaves, the warbler's yellow face shone like a tiny sun.

Raindrops on flat leaves
are easily mistaken
for movements of birds.

June 18: Eiders

In the middle of the night I half-awoke and was vaguely aware of my cat's soft snoring at the foot of the bed. It occurred to me that the sound was kind of like the cooing noises I've heard from flocks of common eiders. I let myself imagine the eider hens gathered together in the waters around their nesting islands with all their babies among them. Eiders tend their young communally, with many females (even those who didn't have a nest that year) caring for the ducklings in groups called creches. Having many eyes watching over the flock is a big benefit for a species that's heavily preyed upon by gulls, eagles, seals, and other pelagic predators.

The word "creche" brings to mind cradles and Nativity scenes--and I think the image of these fluffy baby ducks swaying in the waves, watched over by their many mothers, was what lulled me back to sleep at last.

Cat's midnight snoring

reminds me of eider ducks'

soft calls in the creche.