Cheer. Cheer. Birdie. Birdie. Birdie.

Day 42. Why don’t we see the cardinals’ breath in the two to three seconds they sing for Spring in February’s brittle six degree weather? Their ruffled valentine throats are an exhaled trill, “loud strings of clear down-slurred or two-parted whistles.”

About fragmentsandthoughts

A one-generation-off-the boat demi-Sicilian.
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