Yesterday, the nest, so perfectly shaped and tightly woven, sat on the porch in front of the door. Tom found it and called me. I couldn't believe it. But yes, the nest on the drain pipe was gone, and this was obviously it. Had the wind blown it down in the storm the night before? Had a kid put it there?
I crawled through bushes to look for broken eggs. Nothing.
I moved the nest against the inside wall of the porch not far from the wooden shoes, where I am charmed by its craftsmanship and saddened by its owner's loss.