I haunt the woods along the river year ‘round. But in May they’re a little more active.
Example: warblers. Multi-colored birds that appeal to the collecting instinct. They don’t warble, though. Even if they did, the name’s insulting.
There are other May birds. Bright tanagers, orioles, hummers, thrushes, the springtime homecoming squad.
Uncharacteristically, this May I’m drawn to a bird that doesn’t fit with the cool kids.
It’s a creepy bird in a dead tree over the water. Prehistoric profile, hooked beak, beady eyes, snaky neck, long bony wings.
These wings are held open when the bird’s sitting and staring back at you.
It’s a Double-crested Cormorant. Not sure about the double crests; I don’t see even one. But it’s my May bird.
If Poe knew of it he would have canned his Raven and written “The Cormorant.” Although it’s probably harder to rhyme something with Cormorant. How about “mordant?”
I’ve been watching the Cormorant. He doesn’t leave.
Maybe other birds will break the mood he’s brought to this wild place. But, so far, it’s been a dark May.