Birdseed and Chopsticks

If you have ever watched a bird take a dust bath, then you know just what the juncos are up to in the snow.   I scatter thistle seed under one of the dying crabapple trees for them, and as it gets covered by more flakes, they sit themselves down and flutter their wings to make little divots around themselves, uncovering buried seed.  I can only hope that this helps them get through, and maybe some of the escaped seed will grow in season, and produce.  I don't know how the wild ones get through outside hardship, what on earth is there to eat?  The competition must be tough, and I am surprised that the chickadees haven't bullied their way in.

Further to the south are General Mills and Adm Mills, both of whom still deal in flour and meal; you can find sparrows drunkenly lolling in the spills of grain any season.   I feed the locals furtively, as feeding birds on the property is forbidden, to avoid vermin.  Technically, tossing the seed through the fence counts as off property, and besides, the feral cats are on task.  Their patron saint told me they once left her a rat tail.  No rat, just the pink, snakey snake tail.  Eek.

I went to a Korean grocery today in search of my favorite chopsticks.  I had recently bought a new batch, but they turned out to be rounded.  Rounded tips lead to dropped food and I longed for the flat sided ones that grab items with determination and industry.  The only place I know is out towards Millersport Highway, and there I landed, and there they were.  Individually wrapped, 100 pairs for two bucks.  What a deal.  The rounded ones will be used for purposes that don't have to do with grabbing.  They will make excellent pokers of holes in dirt, or in cake for glazes.  Really, handy sticks all around.    

Actually I have little to write this evening, as discerning but polite you can already tell.  I have to start research on a paper on influence and well, the enthusiasm isn't gushing forth.  Kai is watching the fish scuttle the bottom of the tank, the clown loaches, the black and yellow striped fiends with red fins that dispatch anything smaller with speed.  They sleep on their sides and have a spine that draws human blood.  Ask me how I know.

Sleep well this cold evening, dream of stars and comets, of portent and omen.  Love those near to you, the ones in big beds and little beds, do tell them their names, they love to hear you say them.  It sends them off to sleep feeling loved and as part of a story we all share; this part of the tale is yours to shape with them, with me, with the birds and the growing bamboo that will one day travel thousands of miles to be held in your hand, perhaps to pick up grains of rice.  The world whirls on.  Good night.