A Bird Nest in the Outhouse

Before I left for my recent trip to Hawaii, I found a bird nest in my outhouse. Because I believe on principle that it is a poor practice to poo in the water cycle, I make my daily constitutional into a hole.

So, when I found the nest, empty, but built in a precarious area, filled with sawdust & wood shavings, I tidied the zone, hoping that the birds would realize the exposure of their primary progeny palace & reconsider their choices.

When I came back from Hawaii, aflutter in my own right with exotic musings of far away nature & the new plant kin I am meeting in tropical climes, I forgot about the birds in my shitter & their Spring shelters.

Each morning I start my day with a glorious visit to the loo, listening to the sounds of the wild all around me, breathing deep the fresh air, and eliminating my bowels so that I can begin my day. For four days I went & pooed & saw a pair of birds come to perch in the bay laurel.

A fantastic imagination at my disposal, I anthropomorphised a fine Cinderella tale about the bird parents proclivity for me & my egocentric magnetism for such mystical early morning encounters for several days before my neural synapses soldered an intersection of previous nests, current protective parents, and the absolute likelihood that the birds were here to safeguard a new brood & not simply grace my morning with their presence.

Once the right brain cells connected, it took a meager glance up to see nest 2.0 positioned just above my usual visual field. We all know my love of baby animals… and so, of course, post poop, I peeked & awwwww, I present three baby birds from my shitter to your algorithmic feed —so nourishing, the cuteness is contagious!

Update: now that a few weeks have passed, the bird nest in the outhouse is now empty. I still smile every morning when I go in there, and I have to wonder if perhaps next year there might be more baby birds to watch grow.