Winter Rain

All the hatches are appropriately battened, and we're waiting to see if the weather we've been promised will be terrible or only cold, cold rain.  Right now, I hear it pinging, singing against the window panes.  It's hissing in that way that doesn't say rain so much as sleet, and I can hear my hopes of a three-day weekend around my birthday disappearing.  If this stays and if this sticks, they'll cancel school tomorrow.  At least we have a day built in this year.  In the past two years, when we've needed foul-weather days, they've sort of over-optimistically failed to put them in our calendar and we've paid for it at the end of the year.

The general heavy grayness of the atmosphere this morning made it easy to sleep in after yesterday/last night's overindulgence in TV.  I found a new series that I like, Firefly.  Ovation had a marathon on, and I saw almost every episode.  That was a very good show.  I wish they hadn't canceled it, but it seems these days that if it's creative and well-written, it has the kiss of death on its brow from its first episode.  The vast mass of viewers want to watch "real people" have "real life problems," hoard crap in their houses, slap each other over affairs, have their dirty laundry aired before the eager and vigilant eye of the camera.  It's the modern-day gladiatorial arena spilling technicolor blood into every waiting living room.

I stood for a long time this morning watching the birds at the feeders.  The weather and my refilling of everything yesterday brought out even more than usual, so the ground was practically covered with them. I love the way all the different types seem to have personalities.  Chickadees are fearless and curious.  They are always the first to come to every new feeder.  They sometimes won't even wait for me to go back inside before they're perched and testing, chirping to each other that food is back.  Cardinals are bold and territorial, the males flipping up their tufted crests like a knight's plume before they charge.  They fight with each other as much as they eat.  The orange and black birds which are either tangiers or orioles (I haven't gotten my book out yet) dance and flap their wings, scattering leaves and other birds in their quest for the hidden treat.  I can always tell when they've been to the feeders because the ground beneath the feeders is swept clean of every last leaf.  There are blue jays, finches, and a supporting cast of others, as well, each colorful and striking.

And then there are all the lovely timid little brown birds, the sparrows, the wrens.  They come in droves and take what the larger birds knock down.  The wrens build nests in the metal table out under the pecan tree and think nobody sees them do it, landing quickly before darting inside with a long strand of field grass in their beaks.  Sometimes I think I like them best. 

The birds are restful to me.  I could watch them for hours.  I hope I can get my camera into a place where I can get some pictures of them without disturbing them. Right now, the window that I'd like to use for that purpose needs to be cleaned.  Since it's about fifteen feet off the ground, that's a bit of a chore.  Let it be.  It's enough to watch them shine like jewels in the flat grey drizzle and be peaceful.