On Birds and Writing

There are people who ask me what I do all day. I’m always vague. I don’t know how to explain myself, often even to myself.

One answer can be that I watch birds. As I loaded the dishwasher and mulled over this post, I heard the calling of mourning doves from somewhere out along the deep creek. I went out to my screened porch to retrieve my tea mug and startled the little Carolina chickadee at the feeder that is on the other side of the screen, barely two feet away. I paused and the Carolina ch...