Rambling

Frosting of snow during the night. Bright stars give way to dark leaden skies. The sun struggles and finally breaks through the sullen clouds. With the sun’s rising, the air begins to move rushing through the trees. Gusts spin the bird feeders on their hangers scattering goldfinches and chickadees as they dash for cover.

Air remains chill, snow does not melt; it simply evaporates.
The ground and feeders have the appearance of a supermarket on a holiday weekend. Chipmunks, red and gray squirrels, join the birds at the feeders busily gathering sunflower seeds then racing to store them away and scurrying back for more.

I seldom leave these few acres of woodland. It is not that I can’t leave but the leaving has consequences that make it easy to chose retreat in this hillside haven --- a place where I can escape from polluted air, diesel fumes, pesticides, tobacco smoke, scented unguents of all types as well as insulate myself somewhat from the germs that invade the city air. The air in this small part of the world is fragrant with the scents of pine and hemlock rather than these noxious fumes.