The Jubjub crooning
The Grog Six
This morning the Grog Six (yes, happily there are still six) flew spectacularly, I thought. As the swallows dove in and out of the air, the Grogs seemed to take note and do it one better. Could there be a special providence in the flight of a swallow? Not for insects, but perhaps for ravens. Of course, the ravens weren't catching breakfast in flight, they were too busy chattering, chopping and changing direction.
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"Not that nonsense again!"
Many times I have listened in wonder to the conversation between ravens high in flight as they replicate moves and compose patterns together. How could they fly so elegantly while carrying on a discourse? What are they saying? "I want to take you higher"? This morning I witnessed the rougher version--the young Grog's clappers going a mile a minute at each other as they jerked right and left, wiggling their tails, chased by a black phoebe.
Several of the young landed in the sand, one on a nearby rock to practice her monologue with such an appreciative audience as me. She clacked, jabbered, prated and sang, her rosy red mouth wide-open and inexhaustibly answering herself. This gifted gabbler has the identical profile to her mother, Sunshine, with a flatter head and beak than the others (or maybe she will get a bigger head as she grows).
The El Moros are very quiet by comparison as if the solitary young Moor is keeping his thoughts to himself. Without the jabbing, daring and volubility of siblings around him, his sounds may lack their range and variety. Yet, that may change when he begins the social rounds.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!"
*Click on to enlarge
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