One thing my head cold accomplished: the local birds have gotten used to the suet cake. I was too sick to venture out in the rain for three days in a row, so the peanutbutter and sunflower didn't get renewed, seeds and insects were at a premium, and the suet they had previously shied off from began to look pretty good. Now the sparrows are mobbing the cage feeder even when there's still peanutbutter left. I'll have to buy more of them at a time.
Too bad it's mostly house sparrows, non-native "trash birds" that don't need any help. I want to feed the warblers, wrens, titmice, housefinches, and woodpeckers. But I understand they're on the decline in their native land of Great Britain, so I can't grudge them too hard. (Someone should fund a catch-and-transport program, returning house sparrows to Britain, where they belong.)
There's bound to be some analogy here for writing, or life, or something, but I have a lot of housework to catch up on so I'll leave you to work it out yourselves.
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