Weather, birds

Is there a band named Weather Birds? (checks) No! Well, you heard it here first.

Low clouds move down Boulders foothills.

Low clouds move down Boulder's foothills.

It’s finally cold here. The wires and trees are dripping with melting frost, and thick clouds are moving down the foothills, promising snow. If you think this makes me fret, you don’t know me very well. This house has a woodstove, a hot tub, an Insta-Hot for impulsive tea-making, and a tinsel Christmas tree in the basement, just waiting for me to set it up for the first time. I’m a winter girl with a closet full of coats.

Looking down into the neighbor’s yard this morning, I saw the real-life bird version of one of those postal stamp scenes — the ones that show all the creatures of the Everglades in one 8 x 10 sheet. Steller’s jays bounced in the bare branches of the big apple tree, magpies swooped from the fence, juncos flashed their petticoats as they flew across the dead grass, and not only did a flicker climb one tree, but an actual woodpecker circled another trunk. Then a raven flew overhead. A few minutes later, they were all gone. I had stepped out just in time for the big show.

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