I may have mentioned the chilly weather we’ve recently had around the District They Call Columbia. Compared to what much of the country is suffering, I am not in any way complaining; just noting that 8°F makes for quite the brisk morning walk. Yesterday it was a positively balmy 27°F and I eschewed the scarf wrapped around my ears.
Do I know how to live on the edge, or what?
My backyard ground-feeding birds are going through the seed at a
rate of knots. I toss out a couple of fistfuls about every hour when I’m home
during the day. And they really appreciate the heated birdbath. It doesn’t make
the water warm; it just keeps it from freezing, which means the birds can drink
it. I’ve seen way more of them bellying up to the bar in the past few days,
probably because their usual sources of water are frozen solid.
(I have to refill the birdbath once a day, they're drinking so much.)
I keep thinking of the line from “In the
Bleak Midwinter”: “Earth was hard as iron, water like a stone.” That’s
pretty much where we are.
Well, but the frozen puddles that have driven the birds to my
back yard are still beautiful, which is the point of today’s post. Viz:
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