The birds swoop down toward me. Splattered mud of last year’s temporary nest still stains the corner under the roof of our patio. We’ve tried to deter them. A long rope of brass bells from India hangs from a nail nearby. I watch them pull at the strands of the rope. Loudly protesting this intrusion.
They try a new location. In the opposite corner. Instinct rules and they will not be stopped. We pile something in this new spot. Our attempt at a scarecrow. We wait to see whether they’ll leave for another place.
They’re obnoxious. All the chattering and swooping makes the back patio an unpleasant experience. But I know it’s how they’re wired. It’s time for nest making. Go home.