The weather has been much better lately; much better meaning “not freezing cold.” That’s the bar for weather, and everything else, in 2021. It’s pretty low. I still walk outside when it’s really cold but I tend not to notice my surroundings. I bundle up in as much clothing as will allow me to still move my arms and legs, and I plug in my headphones, and I concentrate on whatever I’m listening to, and on putting one foot in front of the other until I can stop walking and go back inside where I belong in the winter. Yes, it’s that bad.
But when the weather’s nice, I keep my head up and my eyes open and my wits about me, such as they are, and I notice stuff. I notice the very beginnings of spring starting to poke out here and there. I notice odd details. A few days ago, I walked a different route than normal, and I walked past a house that had bird feeders hanging from every available tree branch. I stopped to count, and I stopped at 19. 19 bird feeders. Interestingly, I also counted zero birds, so I guess that the bird feeders were empty. Maybe the homeowner hasn’t gotten around to buying birdseed yet. Or maybe they’re just there for show. Bird feeders are very decorative. Bird crap, however, is not.
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I passed one of my favorite houses, the site of the suburban encampment about which I wrote in some detail last year. I was hoping to see something interesting, and I wasn’t disappointed. There were political cartoons posted on the fence, and a glass or crystal bird perched on top of a fence post. I don’t know why it was there. It looked pretty, but a stiff wind (or a real bird, for that matter) could easily knock it from its perch and break it into a thousand pieces. I should have taken a picture, because the bird’s owner will probably come to the same conclusion and remove it from the fence post. Anyway, I’ll be watching this house with considerable interest as the weather continues to improve.
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| I walked past it again, and took a picture. |
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In other bird news, the crows returned! Not to my front yard, but they’re in the neighborhood and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. I was walking again, on the day after I saw the bird feeders and the crystal bird, and I walked straight into a swirling, shrieking murder of crows. It was Friday, 5:15 or so, and the crows appeared to be having a very good time. It was crow happy hour, and I wanted no part of it. I zipped up my jacket, tightened my hood, picked up my pace, and got the hell out of there. Crows. Ick.
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It’s Sunday now, rainy and cool, but not freezing cold. Saturday was a beautiful day, clear and sunny and almost warm. Not quite warm, but almost. We ran errands and got sushi and checked on my husband’s mother, who had just gotten her first COVID shot on Friday. And things seemed different. People were out, walking and running and stroller-pushing, and it felt like a holiday.
We came home and watched the Capitals beat the New Jersey Devils and we talked about how we might get to watch our team in person in the not-too-distant future. This isn’t over but it feels like we might have turned a corner; like we might return to something like normal life.
Later, I walked past the same corner where the crows had been partying on Friday afternoon, and there was nary a crow in sight. The party was over. Maybe that’s not the only thing that’s over.
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