All the birds are sad and wet, today. I woke up with seven sparrows and a pigeon lined up on my railing, sheltering from the storm. The sparrows were all bunched together near the feeder, peering suspiciously at the pigeon. Then, a pair of crows swooped in, frightening off the pigeon, and sending the sparrows fluttering to the ground. I’m quite certain the crows are nesting nearby: they’ve been very quiet at the feeder, lately. They fly in, eat, and grab some suet to go, no bawking, no window-tapping, no throwing of stones. I hope their fledglings survive. I want to see them.
Speaking of wet, ornery bastards, I was leaning over my balcony railing, trying to photograph starling tongues —
— unsuccessfully —
— when I heard a distinct tut-tutting from below. I looked down, expecting to spy a starling fight, but it wasn’t a bird, at all, or even two birds. It was Ilya Nikolayich Dolgonosov, shaking his fist at me! How rude! Before I could restrain myself, I’d forked him the bird; fortunately, I had the presence of mind to bite my tongue on the accompanying raspberry. Seriously, what’s the matter with that man, shaking his fist like some silent-era villain? I half-expected a caption to pop up (on a black background, of course, with a fancy white frame around it) — “I’ll get you!” Who behaves like that? Maybe he thought I was a creeper, looking in people’s windows with my telephoto lens. But there was a pair of starlings RIGHT THERE; I can’t imagine he failed to see them, or at least hear them. What a horrid old wrinklesnout. Next time, I’ll photograph him, see how he fancies five minutes of Internet infamy. (Well, not really. Last time I made fun of an annoying neighbour online, I got caught, and had to apologise. That was embarrassing.)
While on the subject of things that are weird, every once in a while, a huge plume of water erupts from the other side of False Creek, rising nearly as high as the skyscrapers behind it:
And then, a tsunami rose, and swept Mr. Dolgonosov (and only Mr. Dolgonosov) out to sea, and we all lived happily ever after. The end.
Whee!
What IS that? Why does it happen? Is it on purpose? And if so, do boaters get a warning, before it goes up? — you know, on their boat radios, or something? That could be a miserable soaking, for a boater.
And finally, a wet sparrow:
This sparrow has yet to master the art of not being rained upon.
