since this is a bird story in the first place, let me get out
of here by saying that after the boy alarmed us of the possible
daytime sighting of the nocturnal alarm clock bird a’nesting
trailside due south of our outhouse, we started to monitor the
first, we were surly awkward and overly intrusive. Why we had
even gone so far in the beginning as to prod the trailside finding
with a long palm branch, still not knowing whether we had stumbled
across that dead bird or the scenario of a way southern rattler.
time we learned to stay our distance and from our distant vantage
point discovered there were two eggs, laying there in the warmth
and comfort of a nest woven together of twigs and branches and
pieces of this and that the mother had found necessary to complete
the task at hand.
it was I that first came back from the outhouse to report that
the two eggs had now dwindled down to one. We all noticed that
the nesting mother Nighthawk was now seemingly confused, flying
about our base camp for greater lengths of time.
then there came the silence when for days upon days we heard nothing
from our old friend. And then soon after we had convinced ourselves
that our behave had indeed influenced a generation of Nighthawks,
the bird returned.
early evening at that very point when the last light seems to
be escaping into space making way for the onslaught of the night,
I was sitting alone under the canopy of our thatch roof. I was
at the time on constant vigil for the rat snake that had terrified
us all nights before jumping from the roof thatch to the ground
in order to chase down for consumption a lone lizard that had
fallen prey to the reptile's crosshairs. Watching out for the
rat snake, suddenly down on the ground to my left our nighthawk
landed. Literally less than three feet away from where I sat in
my chair, the bird now began to converses with me as to the what
I can only believe to be the state of the world as that bird sees
offered back my own opinion but I am sure it fell upon deaf ears.
For as the Nighthawk and I conversed about life as reflected there
in camp two, a you'd nighthawk swooped down from the tree. The
mother then ruffled her neck feathers my way, hopped about left
then right as the nighthawks in our neck of the woods are known
to do, and then joined her child in the blissful beauty of flight.
Three laps around the camp one airspace and they were gone for