(This is the second article in a series of three written by Woodbury resident Michael Givant. The first appeared in the Oct. 15 issue of the paper.)

The mockingbirds' nest had been hidden in plain sight albeit somewhat obfuscated by the tree's branches, approximately 15 yards and an eternity from a window in our house on the second floor. I focused my telescope on a space about a foot wide, then further concentrated on the bills of the adult bird and chicks, to see if anything passes between them. The two adults shuttled in and out of the nest from dawn to dusk seemingly in a mad quest to fill the hungry mouths of three, probably no more than days-old nestlings that were the stars of this performance.

During the first two days I never see their eyes. At first I can see only their gaping yellow mouths and necks stretched tautly, like upturned fire hoses under full pressure, which were pleading to be fed. Although I saw countless comings and goings of the adults, there were only a few times that I can say with certainty that a bug, worm or berry was exchanged. One of the chicks seemed to stretch a little higher than the other two and its mouth seemed to be open almost at a one hundred and eighty-degree angle that I feared it would injure itself. From then on I called it One-Eighty. I ached for the clamoring chicks when they didn't receive a morsel, watching their triangular, yellow mouths slowly close and their erect necks deflate. Once or twice I saw what I was certain that all three nestlings were fed. Survival of all not just of the fittest.

What else did they look like? I saw their transformation right before my eyes. On the third and fourth days the nestlings resembled tiny alligators with heads above the water. In their case it was with their heads just above the rim of the nest, with yellow lip lines showing, as they lay in the nest anticipating an arriving adult. At first I could see no eyes. Then I saw them partially until I could see round, black bulging ones. Their heads appeared in a halo of fluff as did their bodies and their necks, when highlighted by the sun had an eerie rose cast. Day by day, they appeared bigger than the day before. Their dark brown wings, speckled with white, came into view. Occasionally they appeared to flutter in excitement at the approach of an adult. Later before they fledged and left the nest I could see their speckled white breasts and the beginnings of white on their wings. Nestlings no longer, they were now fledglings, miniature mockers.

Twice I looked into the eye of an adult that was surprisingly calm despite its furious flight on a warm, sultry day. Never once did an adult looked stressed or frazzled with their heavy workload. On a few of the occasions that an adult came to the nest it would drop something into a yellow mouth. When, as a result, another nestling would then stop bobbing and clamoring, the adult magically would be a lion tamer using no food instead of a whip to calm its brood. Sometimes an adult would stand almost on a branch and chewed what it held in its bill. Was it telling them, "you've got to come out here and get it for yourselves?" Toward the end when an adult would leave without feeding the nestlings yellow mouths would close more quickly than they did before. It was now a puppet master with invisible strings.

Two days before they left, there was now a nestling standing out on a limb, the sides of its head so fuzzy, that the little guy looked like it was wearing large ear phones. I should have known then that the show was nearing the end. On the ninth consecutive day strangely there were no flights. With the naked eye I could see no movement in the modified cup-shaped nest. Above, silver rain clouds covered the sky. There was no need to put my scope on the nest; mockingbird chicks leave the nest within ten to twelve days. Time was up and they had taken their maiden flight without me there to see it. Was I sad? Yes. I had seen the drama day after day, hour after hour in his or her little world, which was hidden in plain sight, that probably no one else, beside my wife, saw. To watch a bird for a length of time is to get to know them. I had come to know them well.