6:21 a.m. (sunrise one minute earlier than yesterday). 39 degrees, wind NNW 3 mph. Sky: crescent moon in the east precedes the sun—clouds in the west, an atmospheric hematoma, blue-gray and scraping the ridgeline. Permanent streams: water level and sound level down. Wetlands: signs of drying, bent reeds plastered, a wavy, southerly comb-over, hides all tributaries but the main channel, noticeably drier and duckless. Pond: an upside-down "L" of open water—feeder stream to entire western shore; eastern shore still iced over.
Brown creepers singing, barely audible. Jays in pairs, gather in aspen, face the sun, and honk. Junco, tilting south, trills in front-yard apple; then, pivots west, trills again, head slightly back, upper bill immobile, lower bill quivering. Robins sing in the pines, the maples, the ashes.
Phoebe, in every dooryard, the most neighborly of the eponymous flycatchers, repeats its name over and over. One, coveting the open barn, sits on an oak limb and faces the western door. From April to October, phoebes perch in the open, tails pumping, fixtures in the yard around my home. What robins are to the lawn, phoebes are to the pasture fence and apple trees: reliable, seasonal acquaintance. Eventually, I have three pairs. Their tails mark time, the feathered-cadence of the day. The closer I walk toward the phoebe, the more he pumps his tail. Is he balancing or preparing to chase down a moth or a winter stonefly?
Recent research suggests that tail-pumping (AKA: tail-flicking or wagging) has nothing to do with balancing or hunting. It's a sign, a nonverbal communication directed at a potential predator. Watching phoebes in the presence of Cooper's hawks alerted biologists that the more tail flicks, the more significant (or closer) threat. Phoebe's way of demonstrating I see you. I'm fit. Hunt elsewhere.
A conscientious homeowner, I slowly back away from the phoebe. Tail-flicking slows, the crescent moon fades in the east . . . the two events, however, may not necessarily be connected.
We saw two brown creepers-one yesterday and one today. It was a first for me and a long time for my husband.