A Mesquite, and What Came After

Hobson, Texas. I tramped forty miles to keep an appointment with a blackbird.
Bare dust; not much going on in empty fields where the coastal bermuda had already been baled.  I stopped in a patch of mesquite shade to catch a spot of wind.
A little squawk drew my eye back to my shade tree, and there, up top, perched the most extraordinary creature. After a pause he allowed himself to come into view. Finally he plopped down to the ground.
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A yellow-headed blackbird. Maybe it helps to be circumspect when you’ve given up any pretense of camouflage. Accepting my presence, he kicked up some dust and started to slink silently around a cattle trough, revealing a special fondness for cow patties in the search for bugs.
No crowded velvet cushion for this blackbird; he’s just as happy sitting by himself on a turd.

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Always a pleasure to catch one of these guys in action.

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