Those of us who retain dead trees or place nest boxes in our yards enjoy the wonder of watching woodpeckers listen and dig for termites; we are serenaded by wrens; and we benefit from the appetites of swallow, chickadee, bluebird, and flycatcher broods that are sated on insects, including pesky mosquitoes.
And then you leave the memories behind. When you look at the pictures It seems like it was always fun. But you know that in that photos everyone was actually broken deep down inside. Wounded. Bleeding. Crying and yelling at the same time. They were some kinda wounded birds... Eagles, wrens... When you remind that, you became some kinda phoenix. And life goes on like this. like an uncomplete poem.