This morning, before the approaching doom of the next, final, and cataclysmic blizzard of the century, there is much “yank, yank, yank”-ing going on in the woods. And “chickadee-dee-dee”-ing, and “caw, caw, caw”-ing and “jay, jay, jay”-i
We are upright, vertical, and ambulatory this morning – a good way to start any day. Sparky-The-Cardinal woke me up with a long string of “purty-purty-purties”, then proceeded to say: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle.
Sparky-The-Cardinal was singing in the near pitch-dark this morning, a little ray of red sunshine brightening the winter dawn before even the first rays of the sun. What a fine and extraordinary bird he is!
Sparky, our cardinal-rescued-from-a-shrike, was singing his head off outside the window at first light this morning. He keeps saying it’s spring! (Or that it’s just around the corner.) A look at the landscape and thermometer says he’s overly optimistic – but I
Sabbath in the woods today, and the woodland congregation gathers in the Church In The Pines. It is a still morning, and the long whistle from the train across the river echoes through the valley, like the low pedal pipes on a church organ. The Youth Choir of siskins, finches, and red
Sparky, the cardinal I rescued from a shrike last winter, is at the feeder today, resplendent in his scarlet cloak against the brilliant snow. He still holds a grudge, still chips and scolds and won’t forget that I once “kidnapped” him and brought him indoors for a w
I have a cardinal named Sparky. Or rather he has me. Or neither one. I’m not sure. I rescued Sparky from shrike last winter. He seemed to be in pretty rough shape. I scared off the shrike, cleaned the blood off Sparky’s face and beak and wings (some of it belonging to the