For the last four weeks, I've had a front row seat to the laying, hatching and rearing of four baby birds, whose parents decided that the lamppost outside my window would make a great foundation for a nest.
I've watched carefully, and sometimes ducked discreetly from behind the glass, as a witness to the beginnings of their awe-filled life cycle. I've heard the chirps get louder as faithful parents alternate the feeding of four featherless chicks and their quiet moments of sleep, huddled in a sturdy nest — cleverly away from any predators that could reach them.
I've left my camera charged and waiting by the window sill to capture their progress, and used alternative ways of getting out of the house to not disturb them. Their nest, their lives, seemed so fragile to me.