Our Blue Tit.

It is now very nearly six months since this little chappie first graced our kitchen window; it’s not that he’s fussy, he is often cavorting at our living room window as well. We didn’t realise at first that he is displaying to his own reflection, trying – and failing - to drive himself away. According to the books, he should soon settle down to raising brood with his good lady wife - and there is a lady, we have seen the two billing and cooing together without any sign of a squabble.
 
We had worried that he would devote too many of his resources to these activities and would, in a moment of distraction, be caught by one of the local moggies; he might also neglect feather maintenance and feeding, and so lose condition; but he has remained immaculate throughout, our fears, obviously, unjustified.
 
While the blue tit is not our smallest garden bird, he’s beaten in those stakes by the goldfinch, siskin and, of course, the wren - which are all regular visitors to our bird feeders. But when one of them carelessly hits one of our windows and I go out to rescue it, to have it lying in the palm of my hand makes me realise just how tiny they are. Apart from having feathers instead of hair, they are made up mainly of the same components that we are; inside they have a tiny heart, probably a similar size to the sunflower seeds of which they are so fond, and which will beat about half a million times in its average two year life span.  A few years ago, we knew of a young siskin that flew the hundred miles from Buckie, on the Moray Firth, to spend his winter with us.
 
On the technical front, there are some reflections due to the double glazing, they manifest themselves as multiple copies of the primary feathers. And I forgot to put up my camouflage netting to hide the background, but then – I wasn’t expecting to end up with a presentable picture. There's always next time.

Thanks to Freyjad for hosting Tiny Tuesday for March.