The rain drifts softly,
wrens peck at the suet like pencil to paper. It's a quiet day. Last night there was a fog so thick before we went to bed, I wondered if it would last until morning. It moved on with heavier rain. We have a new suet feeder next to the office, and to the cat's delight and ours, we see our house wrens and other wild birds passing through, pecking away diligently to fatten up for a winter stay or a long flight. Sitting here, I peck away at the page, trying to be as thoughtful and diligent, each mark a flight across the paper, if not miles inside.
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