I know the holidays are over. Our indoor décor is packed up and put away and we took down our outdoor decorations last week. That is, all except the wreath on the front door. Here it is in all it’s fake-fruited glory.
I love this wreath, had if for years, and was very disappointed when the red, green and white twinkle lights died but now I think I know what happened. Two tiny birds decided this was a great place to roost on a cold winter’s night and loosened some of the bulbs.
They are so darn cute. They fly in at twilight, which here in Northern Indiana is around 5-ish. They snuggle up close to the glass on fake evergreen boughs and stay there all night until first light, around 7:30 a.m.
Of course, there are a ton of questions I’d like to ask these two. Why sleep here when you are surrounded by trees and brush piles along with some very nice boxwood shrubs? The fading red ribbon might block the wind a little and the light above the front porch stays on all night but seriously, I doubt you’re very warm. Sometimes at night when I walk past the door, but not too close, the etched and beveled glass makes you both look like little fatheads! Which by the way, is quite adorable. Still, I worry. Last night it was zero degrees. Zero.. If there was such a thing as a birdie blanket, I would make or buy you one.
Then there’s the matter of your friend, who swoops in occasionally and sleeps above you two by the plastic pomegranate. Who is this weird bird? A wayward teenager or a crazy relative?
I tried to get a look at you to determine what type of birds you were. One evening hubby thought I was playing some sort of game by standing out by the front door (yeah, I question this too—this is a fun household, but seriously???)which consequently made him stand too close to the door making faces at me from the inside. You flew out of the wreath and at my head. I know you meant no offense.
I’m pretty sure I looked like the grim reaper in my big black wool coat and hood. Waving my purple gloved hands and screeching had to be terrifying as well. Then, there’s the matter of hubby’s shiny bald head on the other side of the door which had to be like nothing you’ve ever seen in your teeny-tiny lives. Flying at my head was your only choice.
And still you came back…
I’ve determined you’re American Goldfinches. You are both so tiny, smaller than a sparrow and both brown, which had me puzzled at first because everyone knows goldfinch males are bright yellow with a little black cap. But then I found out the male American Goldfinch loses his bright yellow plumage in the winter! My other clue that you are indeed American Goldfinches is the endearing fact that your species is monogamous. Really, this melts my heart. A little Mr. and Mrs. right here on my front door who snuggle close and are kind enough to allow guests.
Hubby and I sit and talk in the late afternoons before dinner. I have a glass of wine, he has a beer and he always seems to be sitting facing the entryway where he has a full-on view of the wreath. He’ll break mid-sentence no matter what the topic, politics, hockey, upcoming vacations— and say; “Your birds just flew in.” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
If you two are worried about Christmas being long gone, the wreath stays until winter is over. I don’t care what anyone thinks, unless winter stays until Easter and then we’ll have to talk. The wreath stays until temperatures rise and you can find a nice tree to build your teacup-size nest and raise your young. Never mind that this won’t happen for a couple of months. For now, consider the wreath and our door your “Home Tweet Home”
See ya tonight little fatheads!
Nancy and Earl