My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Big Birds At The Feeder
The bigger birds arrive at the feeder with so much fluttering and flapping, strutting about in their importance only to look so helpless trying to perch where smaller birds could so easily stand. Size then only makes them appear so much more frantic.
Labels:
animals,
birdfeeder,
birds,
perspective
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