After eleven feet of snow last winter, I've been happy to have a mild winter, although it didn't feel quite right. There wasn't the invigorating briskness of autumn or the freshness of spring, just something that felt in-between and kind of blah. Yesterday we had the perfect storm--about eight inches of snow, heavy and wet, so it stuck to the trees creating a Dr. Zhivago/winter wonderland effect.
I put seed out under the eves close to the house and eventually birds found it. I sat for a long time, quietly watching them, and realized that sitting and watching is probably what serious bird watching is about. That's something I could get into. Wrens, juncos, titmice, sparrows and cardinals (spectacular against the snow) found their way to my deck while the cats and I observed. Nature is so lovely and complicated and poignant. Watching birds is surprisingly (to me) absorbing. It reminded me of what I've heard people say about fishing. It's mostly about being out on the boat, quiet, drifting.