One sunny September afternoon, I headed up the road to visit with a neighbor. It was a glorious day and I was trying to take it all in—memorize the newest crimsons creeping out from the trees, the whiff of crushed acorns on the sidewalk, the warmth of the sun hitting against cool air. My reverie was short-lived, however.A cacophony rose ahead of (and above) me. It was “My Trio of Blue Jays,” as I’d come to call them, and they sounded for all the world like their world was coming to an end. I shifted into alarm mode. Were they in danger? Had one been injured? I planted myself on the sidewalk and scanned a nearby tree for answers.
Finally I saw the object of their displeasure: a hawk (likely, a kite). Not a big one. Not much bigger than the Jays anyway. But a hawk nonetheless, and he wasn’t a bit afraid of the Trio. They hounded him (er, rather, Jayed him) around the tree branches. Never once actually touching him, they took turns shrieking louder and louder and faster and faster; they flapped their wings and jumped up and down and all the while, the hawk looked nearly bored.
“Really,” I thought I could hear him mutter. “Is this quite necessary?”I’m not certain how threatened the Trio really felt. Their comic antics may have just been something to do on an otherwise dull day. Sometimes, you have to create your own joy.
[Top pic from Fall Foliage Web site; bottom pic by Heather Pickard.]
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