Tell me it isn't so.
Indigo buntings are royalty. They sing their proud territorial songs from the uppermost branches of trees. The tip top. Regal. They do not hide in the canopy like cuckoos, they are perched high, displaying their rich indigo color in full sun for all to see, otherwise it wouldn't be seen. And they eat insects, fresh spring caterpillars. But where are the canopy leaves this mid-April day? And the bugs that eat them?
Yet, I have had two indigo buntings groveling for castoff seeds on the floor of my second floor deck, there among the commoners, the sparrows and mourning doves, for four days.
Gadzooks.
Please tell me this is not yet another sign we are in the last days. Too dramatic? Perhaps. Time will tell, but things aren't right. Yesterday's Enterprise. Tasha Yar should not be here. And indigo buntings should be on the zenith of the canopy.
(Forgive the poor photo. It was taken with a cell phone through a window.)
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