Of Paint and Feathers

 I have been painting-it is a relief to be able to sit in front of my table and move paint around with a brush. 

My camera is old and getting tired. So the photos are not the best. I realize there's lots of room for my painting skills to get better. 

This is a scene I see every morning on my walks with my husband. There's a peninsula of trees that jut out into the field. The trees cast a long shadow early in the morning.

This is blurry, but maybe my idea comes across. I'm falling in love with abstract landscapes. I have lots to learn about value-for some reason it's hard for me. It might be the years of flat folk style painting I did, but it is a hard one for me to switch gears. 

Excuse the dirty window-we can't open it, and after years of robin's nests, it probably won't look much better ever.

This is the third nesting. Of course I have no way to know if it's the same parents each time, but this brood has a different, sweet story.

Mama robin sat on this nest for a few weeks and sang a sweet song-not like the male, but similar. She sang and sang and sang. It was because she was a single parent. I watched like a scientist, noting when she got off the nest, no one came to sit in her place. She spent almost all her time sitting and singing, trying to call anyone to help raise her kids.

Finally, the babies hatched, and suddenly, a male appeared. The funny thing was-he still wasn't there all the time. He helped when he felt like it.

Now the babies are close to fledging. I will miss the mama's sweet plaintive song when the babies finally take that first flight. 

My flower gardens and vegetable gardens are messy. I feel like the beneficial bugs like it better that way.

Take good care, and please get vaccinated if you aren't already.