Today I saw three birds nesting.

In the morning, I read a book in my shared tenement garden. While I was reading, I caught a blackbird in the corner of my eye. He caught me in the corner of his eye. A worm wriggled in his beak. He froze for a time. Eventually – hop! He watched me suspiciously. Was he really that pea-brained to think I could catch him even if I tried? A long pause. Hop! He was now at the edge of the border, inches away from diving into the bushes. Here, he waited, and seemed ready to wait forever. The worm wriggled in his beak. I realised what was going on. I turned my back to him. When I looked back, he was gone.

Over lunch, I went for a walk on the Union Canal. Yards past Boroughmuir High School, a huge nest of heavy sticks sat implausibly erected on top of a bank of reeds, like a house on stilts, with a huge swan heaved on top of it. A second swan, presumably its mate, sailed up and down the canal some way further along. But this one was stock still, perhaps sleeping, its whole head nestled in the folds of its own body. Whether it brooded over eggs or chicks, I couldn't tell.

A little further down, after I passed the second swan, I came to a bridge. When I turned the corner round the abutment of the bridge, I found the towpath strewn with pigeons. As I passed, they whisked up into the iron spars under the bridge. Many of them ended up on a small protruding course along the brickwork on the far side, and I could see why: the iron spars was bristling with anti-bird spikes. Still, more than half the pigeons had seemingly made do with a prickly perch. There must have been at least a dozen nests. They were built of dried plant matter, though I've no idea how they got them to stick together. Spittle? Impressive constructions: large, tall, and deep. I could hear chicks mewling. I watched for a minute. The young ones were pretty much completely obscured in their deep nests. But sure enough, after a couple of minutes, I caught a glimpse of one sticking a head out above the parapet.
