are increasing.
The pond is now clear, clear to the bottom. All our fishes are happy. I can’t feed them yet.
I’m doing the final edit on the NEXT Foreigner book before writing the ending.
The house is a mess. But we are bringing order out of that chaos. Slowly. While working on the garden and two books.
Morning, and I hear birds singing…we don’t have the more colorful prairie birds this deep in the city, but I have my silly sparrows, and they’re back in the quince bush outside my window, in mating frenzy. They like our pond—they’re the cleanest birds in north Spokane; and they’re not afraid of the cats—who watch through the window. I miss our rosy house finches, but not the apartment where they visited.
So I’ll take my rowdy little browncoats, and enjoy them at very close range—only 3 feet from my chair. They’re not afraid of me, either. And they’re back every year.
The quince is about to bloom: it’ll be pink when it gets the blooms going—monster bush, high as the eaves.
We’ve got a few hardy robins and flickers through most of the winter, with a few migrations running through at times. Juncos, sparrows, several varieties of jay, chickadees, ring-neck doves (someone released some a few years back and they’re all over here,) hummingbirds, and probably dozens more all over the place here.
Right now I don’t know what it is singing at dawn because I’m NOT getting up to look, but it sure as heck sounds like a canary. Very musical, loud, and it doesn’t seem to ever shuddup! lol!
I gave up feeding the little birds here even though I’d love to, because I was tired of feeding the resident rats and my neighbor’s cats.
Something in the space (wall covered with creeping fig) between my building and the townhouses next door was making a racket at intervals last night. Since I haven’t heard it during the day, and it sounded like a bird of some kind, I think it’s owls. Maybe screech wols, given the relatively small space available, and the lack of visible nest.