We found this empty little bird's nest tucked into one of the topiaries on our front porch. As you know, Nature generally makes me...what's a good word?...uncomfortable, and I have a hard time even imagining how an animal without hands or thumbs could create such an intricately constructed home. Look how the straw and animal hair winds round so perfectly. Anyways, it's been a few days now, so I think it's safe to assume the nest has been abandoned; I think I'll just leave it where it is, buy one of these singing birds designed by Tsutomu Suzuki, and think of it as the Official Nesting Ground Mascot.
This is bringing to mind a disturbing memory, most of which is probably just my imagination (it may also be a Nesting Ground Re-Run. If so, I apologize in advance and will use the oppresive heat as an excuse). So Delfinos, if you remember this at all, do comment with your recollections.
Here's what I recall: a curious-looking Filipino man wearing a khaki leisure suit and driving a white VW Bug arrived at my Lolo and Lola's house one day circa 1973. He asked to store a number of boxes in their garage, and they agreed. He was not a stranger to my grandparents, but I have never understood the actual point of intersection between the three of them. We kids spent a fair amount of time in that garage. There was a bedroom down there, several storage cubbies and, if I remember correctly, the only entrance to the garden. The thought of the curious man returning to discover that we'd rummaged through his boxes kept us away from them at first, but after several months it became clear that he wasn't returning at all.
We opened one of the boxes.
It was filled with birds. They were piled neatly on top of each other, their beady black eyes staring up at us. Much screaming ensued. After we had calmed down, we came to the conclusion that they were, of course, fake birds. To be used for what, we couldn't imagine. A play? A store window? But closer inspection by an adult revealed that the birds were real. Stuffed, but real. Every box—how many?—contained the same thing.
The man never came back, and I believe the boxes remained in the garage when the house was sold after Lola died. I wonder what the new inhabitants thought?