Though carrion eaters, they like the feed at the feeding station, too... I suspect the
cracked corn and the peanuts.
Another one was sitting on a fence post at the pasture.
I often see them in threes... I think there is an old Scots warning about
"Twa Corbies"... I'm going to have to look it up.
I often see this woodpecker at the suet feeder... and he will let me get within ten feet to take his picture.
While this little group of goldfinches and sparrows was hanging out on the deck.
And here's a picture I forgot to share with you from last week! Remarkable, isn't it????
The brown stuff on the deck is from the starlings who have been drinking there.
The little goldfinch at the right had to wait for the bluebirds to move so she could get a drink!
Still sick with this dratted cold... as are so many of you...
That's it for today.
The Twa Corbies
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies makin a mane;
The tane unto the ither say,
"Whar sall we gang and dine the-day?"
"In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And nane do ken that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound an his lady fair."
"His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's tain anither mate,
So we may mak oor dinner swate."
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We'll theek oor nest whan it grows bare."
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Oer his white banes, whan they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."
And in plain English:
The Two Crows
As I was walking all alone,
I heard two crows (or ravens) making a moan;
One said to the other,
"Where shall we go and dine today?"
"In behind that old turf wall,
I sense there lies a newly slain knight;
And nobody knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair."
"His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady's has taken another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet."
"You will sit on his white neck-bone,
And I'll peck out his pretty blue eyes;
With one lock of his golden hair
We'll thatch our nest when it grows bare."
"Many a one for him is moaning,
But nobody will know where he is gone;
Over his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind will blow for evermore."