On a gray day, the goldfinches’ faces look redder than ever. A dunnock enters the cage with the suet and settles in to eat.
Bright sun at last! I notice that the bottommost layer of seeds in the bird feeder have sprouted.
Two coal tits flee as a squirrel drops onto the suet feeder, wraps it in an upside-down bear hug and thrusts her muzzle through the bars.
Birds on each feeder and two pigeons on the ground below: the indoor cat watches, rapt, swaying gently as if to a music only she can hear.
Clear and cool. High overhead, a black, heart-shaped balloon drifts by.
Bright sun has summoned up the most impersonal of howls: a pressure-washer, I think. A blue tit joins the goldfinches on the thistle feeder.
Wren song and power saws. At the base of the firethorn, the small, umbrella-shaped sex organs of a saprobic fungus cluster in the rain.
The clouds thin. My partner attempts to do yoga with me and the dog staring at her. More and more goldfinches crowd onto the thistle feeder.
Raindrops glisten in the grass. A very small shower hits me, and I look up to see a pigeon staring down from the edge of the roof.
Cold drizzle. The germ of a sneeze takes up residence in my left nostril. I watch the dog watching a pigeon watching a sparrow eating seeds.