The heights of winter in Scandia

Greetings from the heights of winter in Scandia.

My friends, the chickadees, are nothing if not reliable. The feeder tribune I pay is a small price. 

But I do find them impatient in all things. They join me for coffee, frantic conversations lost to me.

I pass this window many times. I spot a grouse – despite my best efforts – under the tree. It is the selfsame stump every time. But my hackles are up, trigger finger atwitter.

A lone turkey’s tracks are solace. Some hope of success – glory! – versus the bounteous Florida swails and breezy California valleys.

Even in January, eminence is the Sun’s. They fade in but a morning and not longer.

Then he appears. I give you his first name only: Pileated. For you know the rest. He gulps as greedily as his name.

His nature, fixed by God, inescapable. – Jason