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November 28th, 2005

Winter is icumen in...

...loudly sing goddamn (as I think Ezra Pound wrote). The sky is that flat gun-metal grey that so often presages snow. And for the first time in my life, I really dread it - middle age, gimpy hip, for whatever reason, the thought of shovelling makes me cringe. Oh well; it'll be a good photo op, at least, she says Pollyannishly. And the dogs love it, even if it does freeze in little clumps on their paws.

Just come in from putting out what seems like pounds of bird seed for the winged denizens of my garden. Seen just today: junco, northern flicker, rufous sided towhee (sp?), a clump of bush tits, house finch, chickadees, fox sparrow, house sparrows (by the ton), Anna's hummingbird (my wicked hummer), one starling (surprisingly only one), several silly pigeons, oh, and one squirrel pretending to be a bird. No nuthatches today, though they are usually regular visitors.

Clio the cat has taken to spending all her day indoors instead of pursuing her secret catty life outside. Right now she's pretending to be asleep on her favourite perch on top of the chest of drawers in my study, up where the dogs can't reach her but she can oversee all comings and goings. She's only pretending to be asleep, because every so often I catch a gold gleam through a slit in her eye as she checks to be sure that I'm not doing anything foolish or otherwise interesting.

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beardie
intertext
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