Walking about in this mild Friday’s pre-darkess listening to the versatile cardinal sing his songs, I am reminded once again of just how lucky I am – how lucky we all are. I also heard the pileated woodpecker try his hand at some bug infested bark in the outback several times. I watched the red breasted grosbeak and a male humming bird visiting new feeders – always satisfying.

I was about to bring in a feeder that we can’t leave out because of the raccoon’s nocturnal proclivities, but decided to leave it until real dark for the benefit of the late feeders who seem to be more active than usual during this nesting season – their feeding schedules being a little skewed with all that love-making and pillow fluffing, I suppose. I am certainly in no hurry.

That’s funny: the less time I have it seems the less I hurry. What’s that all about?

It’s dark now so I’ll go and remove from temptation that feeder that seems to be so fascinating to our masked night visitor.

I shudder when I think that on mid-December evenings by this time it will have been absolutely dark at least four hours. I think that in consideration of those dreary thoughts, and it being the weekend and all, I’ll lay on another dollop of something over the ice left that is left in my glass.

Rest well my feathered friends. Bring on that new generation which always, without fail, mirrors the last. I love that part. Thank you for your predictability. God knows we humans would love a touch of that in our progeny.

And as for you, you masked bandit, were it not for the fact that you remind me of a distant relative who had similar leanings, I’d blow your ass away. Count your blessings.

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