At the Feeder, January 18th

At The Feeder, January 18th The fresh dusting of snow this morning is now a lacy network of sparrow tracks overwritten by the single trail of the marauding squirrel. The feeder has been frozen for two days, and the only way to feed the birds is to scatter seed on the snow. The black squirrel, shoulders hunched, slowly moves across the snowy plain, vacuuming up seed as he goes. His exhaled breath puffs the snow as he creeps forward exposing more food. The mourning doves sit watchfully at a distance, almost hypnotized by the action below, timid, even amongst the sparrows. The sparrows flit about looking for an opportunity to land. When one brave soul gets his feet on the ground, he is joined by the rest of the flock and the squirrel moves on with a look that says, “I was finished anyway.”