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Several bird feeders in the back yard are strategically located for viewing from my sunroom.   In spite of that, because of fewer hours of sunlight in late January and long weekdays spent at my job, I rarely am home to spy upon the activity at the feeders.  I know some hungry visitors have arrived because I occasionally refill the various containers with seed.

Scooping up fresh seeds from storage, I wonder who comes to the feast, who receives sustenance?   A family of finches?  A migrating songbird?  A raucous, greedy crow?   It is noteworthy to mention that the neighborhood squirrels are rather chubby.    It matters not to me who benefits from the supply, I simply want to observe them for the joy of it.

Yearning forward…I am impatient for spring sun beaming down, warming the earth and sustaining me with its cheering and strengthening glow.

When the days grow longer, there will be enough light at the end of my workdays to tend to growing things behind the house; to do my own small part in bringing that plot of earth to life, overseen by the outstretched limbs of the grand cottonwood.

More feeders will be added.   I will secure the fresh bluebird nesting box brought to me by a dear friend who shares my love of nature.  Likewise the dried gourd, a thoughtful gift from my husband, will be positioned with the hope that a pair of wrens or chickadees will raise a brood within its rounded base.   There’s an old blackjack stump that might serve well as a base for a birdbath, some empty space near the fence line where purple irises could thrive.

For now, in the chill of winter waiting, I venture out to find the level of feed in the containers has dropped, like grains of sand sifting downward in an hourglass.

Another season inching forward, measured out in seeds.

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