Between the Elms and White Birch boughs,
He swoops to seek his sustenance.
Between the thrush, the finch and doves,
He jockeys for a place perchance.
Between their flurried rush he sees,
His opportunity to dance.
Between his talon flaws he snags
the rusting iron grate, in his grasp.
Between the intersecting bars,
His beak discovers seeds, en masse.
It never ceases to amaze me that hordes of songbirds descend upon my yard each year, rediscovering my ancient, rusting feeders and reward my efforts to provide sustenance with an always-changing and ever-brilliant symphony of song. Each species has their strengths and needs, though I marvel at the capabilities of the White-breasted Nuthatch. This backyard denizen, usually seen pecking away on tree bark, has found his way to my feeder, where while gripping with his claws, he easily hangs upside down, poking his pointy beak deep Into the tiny feeder tray. Squirrels and chipmunks may reach the matrixes, but they cannot squeeze their snouts into this well-designed feeder. My feathered friend knows that at this feeder, he optimizes his chances for success.
This was posted in response to The Weekly Photo Challenge: Between