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Redbird
Vicki
Vicki
We saw crocuses in bloom this morning.
Just a couple, but wide open. Miniatures, that odd orangey-yellow crocus color. He grinned and chortled all the way to lunch: in Andy's universe, crocuses plus robin equals spring, and we saw robins a couple of weeks ago, the day I got my hair cut.
After lunch, we went down to the Dyckman House to check out their garden. One more miniature crocus, also yellow; 1.5 periwinkles; and small yellow flowers on two plants whose names we don't know, one in the garden and one growing in a sidewalk crack.
It's the eighth of February. In New York City. And there are robins and crocuses. This is weird.
We came back in several hours and a doctor's appointment later (just a check-up, all is well), and Andy said "the hawk is on the fire escape." I moved slowly and carefully, and we watched the hawk--one that's been hanging out in the park for weeks--eat its catch. A small rodent, probably a mouse. The hawk seemed aware of our presence, but not overly disturbed--I'd guess she's figured out about glass windows by now--and stood there, about three feet away, taking apart and devouring its prey. We'd seen hawks do this before, but not close up: there's a huge difference between standing 10 or 15 feet beneath the branch a hawk is perched on, and watching from the comfort of your own kitchen, at eye level.
There are things worth delaying tea for. This was one of them. We waited until the hawk had finished eating, leaving only mouse guts on the fire escape, and flown away in its own time. And then I put the kettle up (the stove is right next to the window, and I didn't think I could do this without bothering our visitor).
Just a couple, but wide open. Miniatures, that odd orangey-yellow crocus color. He grinned and chortled all the way to lunch: in Andy's universe, crocuses plus robin equals spring, and we saw robins a couple of weeks ago, the day I got my hair cut.
After lunch, we went down to the Dyckman House to check out their garden. One more miniature crocus, also yellow; 1.5 periwinkles; and small yellow flowers on two plants whose names we don't know, one in the garden and one growing in a sidewalk crack.
It's the eighth of February. In New York City. And there are robins and crocuses. This is weird.
We came back in several hours and a doctor's appointment later (just a check-up, all is well), and Andy said "the hawk is on the fire escape." I moved slowly and carefully, and we watched the hawk--one that's been hanging out in the park for weeks--eat its catch. A small rodent, probably a mouse. The hawk seemed aware of our presence, but not overly disturbed--I'd guess she's figured out about glass windows by now--and stood there, about three feet away, taking apart and devouring its prey. We'd seen hawks do this before, but not close up: there's a huge difference between standing 10 or 15 feet beneath the branch a hawk is perched on, and watching from the comfort of your own kitchen, at eye level.
There are things worth delaying tea for. This was one of them. We waited until the hawk had finished eating, leaving only mouse guts on the fire escape, and flown away in its own time. And then I put the kettle up (the stove is right next to the window, and I didn't think I could do this without bothering our visitor).
We saw crocuses in bloom this morning.
Just a couple, but wide open. Miniatures, that odd orangey-yellow crocus color. He grinned and chortled all the way to lunch: in Andy's universe, crocuses plus robin equals spring, and we saw robins a couple of weeks ago, the day I got my hair cut.
After lunch, we went down to the Dyckman House to check out their garden. One more miniature crocus, also yellow; 1.5 periwinkles; and small yellow flowers on two plants whose names we don't know, one in the garden and one growing in a sidewalk crack.
It's the eighth of February. In New York City. And there are robins and crocuses. This is weird.
We came back in several hours and a doctor's appointment later (just a check-up, all is well), and Andy said "the hawk is on the fire escape." I moved slowly and carefully, and we watched the hawk--one that's been hanging out in the park for weeks--eat its catch. A small rodent, probably a mouse. The hawk seemed aware of our presence, but not overly disturbed--I'd guess she's figured out about glass windows by now--and stood there, about three feet away, taking apart and devouring its prey. We'd seen hawks do this before, but not close up: there's a huge difference between standing 10 or 15 feet beneath the branch a hawk is perched on, and watching from the comfort of your own kitchen, at eye level.
There are things worth delaying tea for. This was one of them. We waited until the hawk had finished eating, leaving only mouse guts on the fire escape, and flown away in its own time. And then I put the kettle up (the stove is right next to the window, and I didn't think I could do this without bothering our visitor).
Just a couple, but wide open. Miniatures, that odd orangey-yellow crocus color. He grinned and chortled all the way to lunch: in Andy's universe, crocuses plus robin equals spring, and we saw robins a couple of weeks ago, the day I got my hair cut.
After lunch, we went down to the Dyckman House to check out their garden. One more miniature crocus, also yellow; 1.5 periwinkles; and small yellow flowers on two plants whose names we don't know, one in the garden and one growing in a sidewalk crack.
It's the eighth of February. In New York City. And there are robins and crocuses. This is weird.
We came back in several hours and a doctor's appointment later (just a check-up, all is well), and Andy said "the hawk is on the fire escape." I moved slowly and carefully, and we watched the hawk--one that's been hanging out in the park for weeks--eat its catch. A small rodent, probably a mouse. The hawk seemed aware of our presence, but not overly disturbed--I'd guess she's figured out about glass windows by now--and stood there, about three feet away, taking apart and devouring its prey. We'd seen hawks do this before, but not close up: there's a huge difference between standing 10 or 15 feet beneath the branch a hawk is perched on, and watching from the comfort of your own kitchen, at eye level.
There are things worth delaying tea for. This was one of them. We waited until the hawk had finished eating, leaving only mouse guts on the fire escape, and flown away in its own time. And then I put the kettle up (the stove is right next to the window, and I didn't think I could do this without bothering our visitor).
.