The Goldfinch Conspiracy.

I am in the midst of a minor Tippi Hedren flashback.  I am no fan pf scary movies and The Birds bothered me to no end after catching a late night showing in my youth. In any case, two mornings in a row have found a tiny goldfinch* perched haphazardly on the screen of my office window pecking away at the fine mesh. Are there tiny bugs infesting the screen? Is there lint mixed with the dirt on the panes? Is he attacking his reflection?  I don't know. Dr. Doolittle did not deign to teach me to talk with the goldfinch. I do know the cute little bastard has torn holes in my screen.

I have no doubt this attack  is a minor distraction in an avian conspiracy towards me. Red-breasted robins have managed shit a white sheen on the top of my mailbox. The cardinals eat dinner at the local Mexican dive then spew chulupa inspired diarrhea all over the black paint of my car. The doves coo the strategy as set down by crows in from the fields to the west.   Sparrows are spying on my actions, looking for a way inside the house. Starlings sit mustered in silent rows high up in the neighbor's Bradford Pear waiting a chance to peck my eyes out. A red-tailed hawk silently circling on gliding wings high in the sky coordinates the whole campaign. So far, no seagulls have ventured into the vast interior of the nation to threaten my person.

Or the finch on my screen might be a coincidence. I think his nest is in the Japanese maple right outside my office window.

*a little yellow bird the size of a sparrow. It may be a female. Ornithology is not among my areas of expertise.