May 21, 2011

Birds on a Wire

There are a dozen-or-so swallows that hang around just outside my hotel room here in Beaver Creek. I think they're a mix of tree swallows and violet-green swallows. Whatever they are, they've definitely got personality.

"Oh, yeah. I'm cool. I know it."

"Oooh! Ooooh! Itchy!"

"Ha ha! Real cool. Flea-infested loser!"

"You're one to talk! You can't even keep your breast feathers from flopping out all over the place!"

"Eek!" (Groom, groom, groom.)


"Hey! How you doin'?"

"Kiss my tail feathers, slimeball!"

"This is all so embarrassing..."

"It doesn't matter how colourful I am, nobody seems to notice me..."

"Oh, I see you Mountains. You think you can intimidate me? You think you're all big and mighty and that I'm just a little bird, but I can fly right over you. Tony Robins tells me I can and I will. Whaddaya think of that, huh? Whaddaya think of that!"

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