Reflections on the Eighth Week of Fall

Mid morning Friday, Spence poured sunflower seeds into the bird feeder. Because it had slipped down the glass door in last year's bitter cold, he squirted dish washing liquid on the suction cups before mounting the feeder on the door. Lines of soap dripped, but the feeder stayed in place. No birds came. Their morning food-check swoop had been earlier. Saturday, though, a chickadee arrived at dawn. Within ten minutes, five chickadees, two titmice, and a junco waited on dry wisteria vines for their turns at the feeder. As wings fluttered, birds teetered, and fly-by challenges abounded, near collisions were acrobatically averted. Since the furniture had been cleared from that part of the room for floor work, the cats enjoyed a wide view of the flying gymnastics. George and Emma took turns sitting under the feeder. Ears twitched, tails switched, and birds scattered. In the afternoon, Spence and I moved the sofa against one of the sliding doors to prepare for a new section of flooring. Having bumped into the glass enough times, birds had learned to ignored the cats who couldn't get through the glass either. Sunday, Spence didn't top up the feeder because the snow had melted. Birds came anyway. They reached their beaks under the sides to the covered center for the last few seeds.