Every spring brings another succession of baby birds at various stages of development falling from the nests tucked into gaps in the wall and eaves above our rooftop deck. Some are teeny tiny little broken bodies like the fuzzy infant pictured above whose corpse was found in early spring, settled into a salad bowl planted up with pansies and moss. The soft landing did not save it. Some are more developed, with enough resiliency to survive the fall like the two that landed with a thud and a peep onto the potting table this evening. We were outside watering the plants when we heard the first and while I swung into our well-developed routine (he cradles the bird protecting it from a curious cat while I fashion a cardboard box into a makeshift nest) Davin hears the other peeping from underneath a broom end and transplant pots inside the little box attached to the potting table.
They are always starlings. The sparrows rarely lose their babies. If they survive the fall we'll be unexpectedly co-parenting another couple of baby birds over the next month.