One of my favorite times now is dusk, when I go out to sit and watch the marsh, birds, and sunset. Maria joins me when she quits work. Zip is there the minute I arrive, and we have company now; one of the usually skittish birds has come to accept me and sits with us, close to me but far enough away from Zip, who doesn’t seem interested in her.
We’ve become a threesome, it seems, bird-watching regulars. The bird—I haven’t named her yet—likes to sit alongside us and watch. She has come to trust me and Zip, it seems. I hope that’s not a foolish mistake.
I believe that is a phoebe. They are lovely!
Ooh, I’ve always loved the name Phoebe, ever since I was a single-digit aged grade schooler reading a book with a character of that name, and completely befuddled with how to pronounce it. And was glad to read that you hadn’t named the bird yet (although now it sort of has been…), remembering in Lenore’s book when you told your now ex-wife that you’d met a little black lab puppy, and her first question was, “Oh no, you didn’t name it yet, did you?!” Love the photo in that book of her little puppy paws on the wooden step up into your cabin retreat, her quizzical face appearing to ponder how to surmount such an obstacle to get to where you were.
Nice! Eastern Phoebe. Catching those last pesky mosquitoes for you!