There is a basket of pretty lobelia hanging from the eaves over the front step. Today through the open doorway I could hear something singing up a storm, and as I watched, the lobelia basket swayed and trembled. A house finch was hopping around in the plant basket, over its head in periwinkle-colored blossoms. Bustling and singing -- my husband scowled and said "I'll bet that bird thinks it's building a nest in my lobelia."
If so, evolution is a ripoff for this little bird -- that plant basket isn't stable enough to leave out during a storm, plus it's apt to be nudged by the screen door, so it seems untenable to me. I don't want some sad finch disaster with smashed eggs on my doorstep. Plus, I have cats.
But, it's out of our hands. And you know, I love birds' nests. We could move the lobelia, but I like it there. And I like finches too, with their worried little voices. "Is that you?" they call. "Are you okay?"