Douglas Sherman
Staff
Eric Gofreed will not be able to work on this thread for a bit, and Jim Fox has asked Trent and me to take over until Eric is back.
I am guessing only a few of you know that Eric is an outstanding writer and is working on a book that incorporates his wonderful bird images with incredibly captivating text about his veterinary career.
I have his permission to present one of his vignettes to open this week's thread.
The Hooded Oriole
A brief summer royal, and the art of leaving at the perfect time.
Some guests arrive like a sunrise and leave before you know you needed them.
The Hooded Orioles arrive quietly in spring—bright, elegant, and entirely confident in their color choices.
The males wear a hood of blazing orange; the kind of hue desert flowers have spent an entire evolutionary history trying to achieve. The females, more understated, carry themselves as though they know subtlety ages better.
They nest high—truly high—because Hooded Orioles prefer their homes to sway in warm air and open light. In many places, they choose palm fronds. But here in the desert, I find them in mesquite trees, hanging their basket nests where branches arc, and sunlight filters through.
Just out of reach.
Which is where a nest should be.
The less attention it receives, the safer it remains. I may want the photograph, but the bird has other priorities.
So, I keep my distance.
Their stay is brief. The young fledge quickly. Then, without announcement, the color begins to disappear.
There is no farewell.
One morning, the feeder is quieter.
The Scott’s Orioles remain later and longer, visiting with the comfortable familiarity of birds that seem to enjoy the neighborhood. They are welcome. They are lovely. They are reliable.
But the Hooded Orioles are different.
Maybe it is the orange. Maybe it is because their season with us is so short. Things that stay become part of the landscape. Things that leave make you notice the empty space.
One morning, a male landed on a red yucca stalk.
I had probably been watching him longer than he had been aware of me, which is generally the arrangement I prefer.
For once, he remained still. Orange against red. Flame balancing flame.
I raised the camera.
He gave me only a few seconds. There was no posing, no performance, no awareness that he was giving me anything at all. He was simply a Hooded Oriole resting on a yucca stalk, doing absolutely nothing for my benefit.
And somehow giving me exactly what I had hoped for.
A moment later he lifted into the morning light and disappeared.
Not every visitor stays long. Some simply leave you grateful they came.
Absurd Couplet:
He lit the yucca brighter than the sun,
Then flew away before the summer's done.
Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Subscribed
I am guessing only a few of you know that Eric is an outstanding writer and is working on a book that incorporates his wonderful bird images with incredibly captivating text about his veterinary career.
I have his permission to present one of his vignettes to open this week's thread.
The Hooded Oriole
A brief summer royal, and the art of leaving at the perfect time.
Some guests arrive like a sunrise and leave before you know you needed them.
The Hooded Orioles arrive quietly in spring—bright, elegant, and entirely confident in their color choices.
The males wear a hood of blazing orange; the kind of hue desert flowers have spent an entire evolutionary history trying to achieve. The females, more understated, carry themselves as though they know subtlety ages better.
They nest high—truly high—because Hooded Orioles prefer their homes to sway in warm air and open light. In many places, they choose palm fronds. But here in the desert, I find them in mesquite trees, hanging their basket nests where branches arc, and sunlight filters through.
Just out of reach.
Which is where a nest should be.
The less attention it receives, the safer it remains. I may want the photograph, but the bird has other priorities.
So, I keep my distance.
Their stay is brief. The young fledge quickly. Then, without announcement, the color begins to disappear.
There is no farewell.
One morning, the feeder is quieter.
The Scott’s Orioles remain later and longer, visiting with the comfortable familiarity of birds that seem to enjoy the neighborhood. They are welcome. They are lovely. They are reliable.
But the Hooded Orioles are different.
Maybe it is the orange. Maybe it is because their season with us is so short. Things that stay become part of the landscape. Things that leave make you notice the empty space.
One morning, a male landed on a red yucca stalk.
I had probably been watching him longer than he had been aware of me, which is generally the arrangement I prefer.
For once, he remained still. Orange against red. Flame balancing flame.
I raised the camera.
He gave me only a few seconds. There was no posing, no performance, no awareness that he was giving me anything at all. He was simply a Hooded Oriole resting on a yucca stalk, doing absolutely nothing for my benefit.
And somehow giving me exactly what I had hoped for.
A moment later he lifted into the morning light and disappeared.
Not every visitor stays long. Some simply leave you grateful they came.
Absurd Couplet:
He lit the yucca brighter than the sun,
Then flew away before the summer's done.
Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Subscribed
