Waxwing season
It's November, and the waxwings are back.
They're very fond of the rowan that grows near our place. In the late mornings1 I can open the blinds and see some hard at work stripping berries off the tree.
I'm very fond of this tree in general. Some mornings I just sit or lie back and watch the birds for a while. Or I watch the clouds pass. Or I watch the tree change through the seasons.
I'm thinking about changing the blog's look again. To what, I don't know. I've had an irrepressible urge in me, ever since I was a child, to rearrange my surroundings every few months. This usually manifested in me moving all the furniture in my bedroom that I could move by myself.2 Things can't stay the same for too long. The world certainly doesn't. Sometimes the only purpose it serves is to feel some control when life itself feels uncontrollable.
I can't change the furniture around right now. I can change the blog's metaphorical curtains though. I don't know what kinds of metaphorical birds it might invite. Maybe none. Maybe it will just invite me, personally, back.
The waxwings will be on their way again soon. It's remarkable how much they sound like little bells. A gentle ringing in of a colder, darker time.