How is it that when bleak, gray, November has just about sunk us into the blues, there will be an hour, a day, or just a glimpse, so sublime, that the back of that winter’s-coming-blues feeling is broken, finished, over. … I’m waiting! Just now I’m low and getting lower as I tally the paltry number of white-throated and fox sparrows that have come our way this fall, and how few grackles stopped by in their formal evening attire to cheer us and have a few seeds before leaving. Yes, I’m waiting. Have never been disappointed so far, but like the return of the sun in spring, it’s awfully good when it happens.
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