It’s in this massive mound of sticks, twigs, and grass, resting in aerial perfection two miles from where I presently live.
It’s been here who‐knows‐how‐long.
I discovered this utopia on Friday when cold weather (relative to Houston!) sent me to the gym, not the sidewalk, for my daily exercise.
On the road, I spied these five dark blobs. Each sat in its own corner atop a single high‐voltage electrical transmission tower, aka Power Tower.
Nearby stood more poles, all bare of any dark spots.
Is that because Deadsville hosts a mile‐long strip of power towers parked in a sea of brown grass? Is that why I walk so fast through here, never looking up to notice anything resting in any tower?
I crane my neck. More questions rush in.
How did I miss seeing these nests in seven years of daily walks? This question begs another: if I missed this, what else do I not see?
Why did the birds build their houses here?
Lofty height? Warm currents along the wires? Baby bird protection? Access along Power Tower Lane?
Is this a double‐duty tower: power and phones in one?
This fall’s first batch of hay bales lay, already bound for farmers, at my feet. That’s a seasonal thing around here but it’s earlier than normal.
My imagination launches.
I envision an unfurled hay bundle, sliced to pallet size, sliding up the pole. And me? I’m beyond ready to join the birds.
Smile meets reality. I’d be looking down, not up.
On second thought, I’ll stay grounded awhile longer.
So much still to be seen down here on terra firma.
More stories to write, too.