Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Birds and Squirrels
We have multiple bird feeders now, some that are seed, some that are liquids, some that are cakes that hang from cages. I think we might have a sock, too, that we have yet to hang. And the birds come. They are like wild pets. The most beautiful of the birds is the Painted Bunting, a small bird in the cardinal family that is so brilliantly and wildly colored it takes one's breath away. Why is it that I've never seen one before? It seems I might be the only one. And Catbirds. They are so subtly beautiful. And of course we have the pairs of monogamous Cardinals, several. There are two types of warblers and two types of Woodpeckers and of course Bluejays and Crows which are not attracted to the feeders. There have been a few Florida Hummingbirds, but they have not come very often. The birds seem to know us now and feed very close by. We have two bird baths. Ili changes the water daily so that we do not breed mosquitoes, and the birds love to come to the fresh water, as do the squirrels. And so in the morning with coffee and in the evening with wine, I sit and watch and call to the birds. I am getting pretty good at bird calls.
I have a degree in zoology, but I never would have guessed I would take so much pleasure in bird watching, especially from my own deck. Is it age? I wonder. After bird watching, there is good food and drink and the leather couch. I've gone soft.
Well, I was softened up a bit as the gangsters used to say.
But that is life at present, if you are wondering why there are no tales of adventure and daring. I am waiting to be able to try water. You know, swimming pools, the beach. I think it might be good for my shoulder, but the therapists have said to wait. I won't much longer. The weather is rapidly turning. Who knows, though. I could drown, though my ortho says he's seen one armed people swim.
He's a funny one, that doc.
Ili is trying to switch me from whiskey to tea at night. I'm allowed to drink after work, but I get cut off early so that I might sleep better. Whiskey is not a sleep aid, they say. But it is pain, not whiskey, I tell her, that keeps me awake at night. I can find no comfort.
Tea, she says, shall be your comfort. You will see.
Birds and squirrels. I'm waiting for a snake or two.
Posted by cafe selavy at 11:59 AM