|"Little Bird Come Sit Upon My Window Sill", 4x4" oil on canvas board|
"Use what talents you possess; the woods would by very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang the best." — Henry Van Dyke
Bracing cold and chill from solitary icy limbs and dangling phone wires, these tiny creatures appear so vulnerable huddling together for warmth in single-line formations. Sitting still, like hooded monks in pews at early morning vespers, their holy chants of praise are dimmed only by the numbing roar of engines processing bumper to bumper on the street below.
I am sure my concerns for these feathered neighbors are amplified after just losing two huge old trees from our yard. First the towering pine sucked dry by thirsty pine beetles in a matter of days, followed by the gnarled and twisted oak that lurched like a staggering old man on crutches over our driveway and house the result of a lightening strike. I lay awake at night wondering how many homes were lost in those fallen trees. Where do those refugees go when abruptly finding themselves and their families homeless? Am I the only person who worries about this stuff?
Thanks for perching here today. I'll be tweeting more birds shortly.
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