It’s starting to snow, and it’s deceptively languid and pretty: slow flakes ambling down. I’m weather obsessed, so I know what’s coming, 5-7”. I am supposed to do two acupuncture house calls this afternoon. We’ll see. I miss my ancient Subaru on days like this.
I am starting my day, like most days: tea in the kitchen, on the loveseat, looking out at the backyard and our bird feeder, with Tiny Dog under a blanket on my lap. I feel her breathing; she’s fast asleep. She doesn’t know about the snow picking up, how it will be deeper than she’s tall.
Juncos are the main bird around the feeder right now: on it, below it, back to the shrubs, then back to the feeder.
A picture of the yard in summer, to get me through. Those sunflowers in the center are accidentals, grown from the feeder's messy eaters, the feeder now hidden by blooms.
And here comes Wren, who’s scared of the slick kitchen floor, so Sue put runners down (that Tiny Dog will pee on, but as you know, I have given up on this). She’s scared of so much, but mostly noises: thunder, of course, but even a spoon clanking on your bowl. Or a falling cell phone off the side table, or a magazine on your lap. When I walk her and a truck drives by, she goes flat to the ground-rigid, and we have to all pause until the truck is gone.
Some mornings I have all three girls on my lap as I drink my tea. I call this The Best Part of My Day. I sip, I pet, I watch the birds around the feeder.
The snow is picking up. I am going to check the online radar, then go fill the bird feeder. Tiny Dog just woke up briefly, with a big sigh and an eyeball blinking at me from the blanket. I could curl up with her right here, on this small couch, small dog and me.