“Hello,” said the morning air when I took dog out first thing. “Cold enough for you?”
And it was a tad bit nippy. Sunny, though, and not windy. So I only had that dry, crackly feeling that you get outside when all the air and trees and surfaces are colder than freezing, and the ground is rock hard. Jack didn’t seem to mind, though. He’s got a good thick built-in coat.
Got interviewed by a nice new young friend this morning for a feature piece in the local paper. Felt kind of funny, in that I used to write feature pieces for that same paper—well, a sister paper—a quarter-century ago. She took my photo, too, just the way I used to do of my feature subjects. I guess we’ll see if she somehow manages to boil down my typical disjointed discursiveness.
Toward the end of the day Jack and I went out and took care of some errands and, lo, ended up at Beech Hill. Saw a mourning dove on a wire. Saw chickadees. Heard a little bird in overflight that I don’t dare even try to ID from its tiny note. Saw the coots out in the pond.
And took a photo of a birch tree. I like to think of it as my birch tree—but of course it’s not. More like I’m it’s human.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 3:15 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Mourning dove
2. Black-capped chickadee
3. American coot
4. American crow
5. Herring gull
6. Rock pigeon