The snow geese -- well, they are flying over in endless fragmented flocks of dozens if not hundreds of birds in each -- it's enough to make your mouth hang open.
I'm reading the fifth novel in the Buckshaw Chronicles series. Bless yer wee heart'ie, Bev, for the introduction and the loans. These are really clever murder mysteries that are an absolute pleasure to swim in. They are just so richly detailed and elegantly written and wry and funny.
There is a lonely spruce grouse thumping its chest in the bush next to our house. We hope it manages to attract a mate; we think it's the one that lost its entire family to a grader blade this winter, on the road outside our driveway. It makes itself at home in the yard; kinda like a chicken you don't have to fence, feed, water or clean up after.
After work it was pleasant enough outside to take a leisurely stroll past the flower bed, and see that the oriental poppies are up, and so are some maltese crosses, and blue flax. As soon as there's a warm day I'll start pruning back the dead stalks and leaves from last fall. Looking forward to that.
There's the door, sounds like Scott has arrived.
Talk to you tomorrow,