On our walk, the curl-leaf mountain mahogany was in its full glory, getting ready to send its seeds to the winds. On the way home we spied something out of place, a little ball along the path.

It was a tiny nest. I don’t know whose: possibly a bush tit? It wasn’t quite made right for a hummingbird, and as you can see in the image below, it’s too big.

The new nest is on the left of the nicho filled with treasures, some wild and some ancestral. The nest on the right is a hummingbird nest with a mummified bumblebee in it. The two in between I’m not sure: the red bird is a Christmas ornament, and the bluebird is a desiccated portion of a long-ago cat-kill. The skull between them is from Desmond Turtu, as is the scute. Various found feathers, ancestral icons and statuettes, a magic wand, and a favorite photo of my daddy and me more than sixty years ago make up the rest. I’m grateful for little treasures, mystical and natural, found and given, and all the memories and associations they carry.