Wrens' world

A Carolina Wren perches on a post giving me the evil eye and opens its beak to hurl shrill curses my way--probably trying to distract me from its mate stealthily carrying a tasty-looking grub to the nestlings. From the sounds of it, the nest must be located somewhere inside the recycling shed, but I don't want to disturb the brood so I leave the shed unexplored.

They've nested there before, perhaps not these same wrens but others like them, and every year they learn to tolerate my presence as long as I don't get too close. A worried wren perches on the deck post finials and look sternly my way as if preparing to deliver a fire-and-brimstone sermon, or else it shifts around to call out those piercing notes in all directions before ducking into the shed. If I sit out there with a book, they'll punctuate each paragraph with a shriek or a buzz and they won't shut up until I get up to leave.

But that's fine with me. With their perky little tails and their piercing shrieks, they're highly amusing company for a slow, silent summer day.