If you look closely, you’ll find two mourning doves. One is sitting on their nest, a loose gathering of twigs that doesn’t look like it could support even a tiny egg, let alone a bird or sometimes two.
Every year, a pair of mourning doves arrives at the river birch to start a family. Over the years, the tree has grown and the birds have adapted by moving higher up. One bird sits on the nest and the other remains nearby to keep her company. They could even trade places, but I can’t tell the two birds apart.
Other birds like other trees. Last year’s mockingbirds moved into a twiggy crape myrtle. We’ve had robins nest in the mulberry and even on a ledge under the eaves. There could be hummingbirds in the taller shrubs, but their nests are almost invisible unless you see the birds arrive or depart.
The only place the birds have consistently shunned is the bird houses. Some are too low, placed as garden sculptures, but other are farther away from the path and much higher. Our birds apparently are not so enthused with architecture.