There is a pair of American Kestrels that is often found perched on a power line that we pass en route to the recreation center. They were absent for a while this past summer but have been back at their old posts this Fall and Winter.
You ask: How do you know that they are always the same birds? Both sexes look much alike and all members of the species are feathered similarly. Could it not be any passing kestrel?.
I answer: Well, if you knew them you would just know. (I like to keep my responses succinct. And as meaningless as possible.)
They are a beautiful little bird, about the size of a Robin. When I was a kid and new to birding, I learned a different name for them, which I actually prefer: Sparrow Hawks. For whatever reason, seeing them perched on that high wire always lifts my spirits. Anytime I encounter close-up a piece of wildness that remains wild, I am cheered, and these small and fierce creatures are just that.
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On a walk a few days ago, I came upon this falling-down shed.
As I looked at it I realized that the patterns of decay had left behind a sort of mural on the rotting wall boards. It was like looking at cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde through a lattice of two by fours.. Here’s a close-up to show what I mean.
Now it’s possible that this is no rustic self-created mural at all, and you might not see anything. Or care. Obviously it doesn’t take much to intrigue me. I live a quiet and sheltered life.
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Robin added something to our Yule decorations yesterday. It’s a small battery-powered object which is turned on all day now at our house. A Holy Family snow globe thingy that never quits, at least until you switch it off or the battery goes dead.
At first I smiled condescendingly at her purchase, but now I am hypnotized by it. I cannot walk by the thing without stopping to stare. Those shiny little flakes keep fluttering, glittering … and the voices that speak to me … in Mandarin, I think …
I really should ask Robin if she hears the voices as well, but there are some things that you have to think about very carefully before sharing them with your spouse. Some cats you can never put back into the bag …
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Colorado has decided that they don’t want the Orange and Odoriferous One to be on the ballot next year. Some phrases in that pesky Constitution that say it really is a bad idea to allow traitors to hold office in the country they have already tried to tear apart.
Omnipresent expert Chris Christie has told us that the courts shouldn’t decide things like this, only the voters. Anything else will be a big problem. I think Chris (who I suspect of being a politician) is skipping one important point here, and that is the principle that no one, not even an ex-president, is above the law. That is not a thing that should go to the ballot box.
But he is right in saying that this is a big problem already, one that evades non-painful solutions completely. But you and I didn’t create the situation. We’ve just been given the job of fixing it. I believe that we’re up to the job, even if it is akin to doing brain surgery with a sledgehammer and a stone chisel. Perhaps we can’t count on this most disappointing of Supreme Courts to do its job without following a badly skewed agenda. Maybe the ballot box is the only place where sanity and a reclamation of national direction can ultimately be achieved.
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It’s Christmas Eve, 1947.
I am eight years old and superstoked for opening presents tonight, but the afternoon can’t go fast enough and maybe if it weren’t pokey old Perry Como playing in the background but something peppier we could speed things up and get down to what the day is really all about and oh god no we don’t have to really eat supper first do we and crap we have to do the dishes too I might not make it to the gift opening but just perish here and what a tragedy that would be only eight years old and everything if you loved me we’d be out there in the living room opening presents right this minute NO don’t answer the telephone it’s probably a wrong number and even if it isn’t who cares who is so stupid they are calling on Christmas Eve that’s it I am dying here and won’t ever get to know what it in that big package with the tag that says From Santa to Jon let’s not do them one at a time but let’s open them all at the same time life is just too short for this yes yes we’re really finally totally going to get it done oh dang what is this … clothes!!!! … aaaarrrrrggggghhhhh …
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From The New Yorker
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I confess that I have to believe in a lenient Santa Claus because otherwise I’d never have received a single present – ever.
Merry Christmas to all.
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Little Home In The Valley 