After last year’s monsoon season that deluged the state for most of the year with torrential rain and storms, this spring appears a bit more normal—albeit hot (records have already been set this season).  I blame the bizarre weather a year ago for the devastating consequences wrought upon the mockingbird nest in my tree, the consequences that brought all of the nestlings down one by one, each left to an unimaginable fate that ultimately destroyed their parents’ hopes.

This year has been quite different, though.

At least two offspring thrive in the nest.  Because it’s so well shielded from prying eyes like mine, the only way I have to determine the number of children is by their calls and their movements seen through thick foliage.  That means this brood could number more than two, but two at least I can confirm.

The parents grow more protective with each passing day.  They berate me when I’m on the patio, and they grow practically unnerved when one of the cats shows up at a window.

Still, I keep my fingers crossed that soon I will see fledglings finding their wings and making their way in the world.