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This Morning Outsideby Diane PorterJune 23, 2010 At dusk, the last two baby house wrens dropped out of their nest in the rolled-up bamboo shade outside the window. The mother wren went wild, flying back and forth between her infants and the redbud tree. At last the fledglings half flew, half scrambled into the redbud leaves. Another generation launched.
Note the pale flanges at the edges of the fledgling's beak, the wren version of baby fat. And the wisps of baby down waving from its head. —Diane Porter
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