Natures choral music group

The weakened Autumn sun is coming through my window, along with
a beautiful song.

Winding it's way through the glass, I can clearly hear natures choral music group, tuning up, joining in, and singing it's little heart's out.

There is a group of small birds, mostly chickadees that live in the giant rhododendron by our deck. They flock together and lift their beaks to the sky, flighty, and skittish, with the slightest breeze. But the chirping and tweets that come from them is magnificent.

How they manage to dive, and dodge each other, jumping from branches to the bird feeder, is beautiful to watch. They so resemble a school of small minnows, flashing by. The damp autumn air is their water.

With no provocation they lift off with split second timing, and disappear to the safety of the nearby bushes. And then when one decides it is safe, they descend upon the bird feeder again.


Somewhere in the twittering, and song there are warning signals, and joyous exaltation. The sounds when they are eating from the illegal bird feeder we have hidden in the garden, are more reedy when there is a abundance of food.

When the weather is about to change, the tempo speeds up. There is urgency in the singing. If it is a sunny day, they rival the most beautiful choral groups I have ever heard, there is harmony in every note.

I might not love living in the city, and my heart might be longing to be transplanted to the country. But until then, I have one of the best examples of natures choral music living right outside my window. And if that is as close to the country as I can get right now, I will take it.

Symphoricarpos alba Common Snowberry

Wednesday Words

If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.

Orson Welles

I have decided to stop my Wednesday Words story here.

It has been a lot of fun, and I would like to thank all of the Bloggers who have participated. Please feel free to continue if you would like.

I am moving on to different things in the future, and while I might sometimes post photos with quotes on them, I will no longer be calling them Wednesday Words.

Who knows where this path might lead.
Look how far it has brought us already.

Jen

One degree of separation

He is always warm, and turning down the heat, and
I am always cold, and turning it up.

There are commercials running on television sponsored by our local electricity provider, that tell you "blankets, are a nice way to stay cosy, and warm." Trying to convince customers that you can turn the heat down slightly if you use a blanket, or a extra sweater to stay warm.

Every time that commercial comes on, he has turned to me and said, " see they are telling you turn the heat down."

"But darling" I reply, "you need to turn it on first."
This has become a running joke in our poor little cold condo.


A friend of ours has described his own sweetie as having one degree of separation from being cold. It makes sense to me.

I have to do this in Celsius, but you will understand my meaning I am sure.

• If it is 19 degrees in the room, she is cold.
• If it is 20 degrees in the room she is perfect.
• If it is 21 degrees in the room, she is too hot.
  

I know how she feels.

Kind of makes you wish that guys had the same hormonal fluctuations that we do. Then they could be the ones turning up the heat, or the air conditioner that pivotal one degree.

Here today, fallen tomorrow

I have a Ginkgo Biloba tree, it's been growing in my garden since time began. Or at least it feels that way to me. According to Wilkipedia, it is the best representation of a living fossil around. To me, it is simply stunning.

It first came to live with me when it was only 5 inches tall. Nothing more than a sprouted cutting.


Now it towers, lurking under the ceiling of the balcony above it. Wanting to stretch itself upwards and grow. I have faithfully moved it into larger pots through the years, and as much as it begs to have the prime spot out in the open air, I am hesitant to move it out into the elements.

I love to see the silhouette of the branches against my patio window. I look forward to seeing the first sprouts in the spring, and the golden changes of fall echoed in it's leaves.

When they turn, they turn suddenly, there is no halfway point for this foliage, it is all or nothing. One day the leaves are here, and tomorrow they have fallen.

Nothing left but bare branches scrapping against the wall in the wind, and piles of golden flakes littering the patio. I leave those leaves for last, their maidenhair like shapes are too beautiful to dispose of quickly.

One day, I will be brave, and move this beautiful tree out of it's protective spot, and one day, maybe my heart will be broken, like it did when other special plants succumbed to winters wrath. Or maybe, it will respond to the added light, with a growth spurt that will put it far above the rest of the garden.

After all, if this species has been able to survive since the Jurassic period, I think it could put up with some winter rain.