I’ve been counting crows this winter.  Not bird by bird, but handful by handful.

"The buttons she popped in and out so easily required enough blunt force to crush a coconut." 

"Something happens to us when we wait — something necessary for the human condition."

Wouldn't dark-eyed juncos rather be called grey-winged terrors?

What can you say about someone who gave you fully half your life?

Despite my best efforts, the birds are scared to death of me.  If I so much as stick my big toe outside, they scatter for cover. 

One man was so upset, veins stood out in his neck as he recounted how “one of the little ba****ds” defeated the intricate maze of baffles and wires he had devised, and gorged himself on the sunflower seeds meant for the birds.

"It’s not storms that kill thousands of birds every year, it’s oil spills and other man-made obstacles that get in their way.  We get in our own way too..." 

"The day before, I sat at the very same table, staring at my iPhone while sipping a Quad Grande Decaf Americano..." 

"Maybe not everything is laden with meaning."

Male robins, cardinals, pileated woodpeckers, etc. can get a little aggressive toward their own reflections during nesting season.  But it’s just testosterone…it’s not anger.

"I don’t like the  spotlight and have never felt comfortable living in a fish bowl..."

Since the hummers were already mad at me and I wasn’t sure I could appease them, I figured it was time to try and make other friends.

The high-speed, aggressive drumming doesn’t seem to give him a headache...in a sense he was made to drum.

I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times in the past few years.  The problem is, I don’t know what I’m waiting for.