an open landscape

with each fallen leaf, the winter landscape becomes a bit more bold.  it opens and reveals,  no longer shunning cold and snow and driven, maniacal winds. 

survival will begin to show its cards now.  eat or be eaten.  the circle will not be broken. 

it was another tranquil night at the nets.  only 14 owls and no rush.  i was able to sit.  my back did not remind me of its stooped, banding position.  it was good.

i hung the first suet of the fall and from the stands of rotten aspen and birch, downy and hairy woodpeckers have added my back yard to their list of places to vist.  

red squirrels have ignored the sciurid gossip from their flying cousins and frequent the feeders, unaware that the sting of the shiny, magic orbs, is a patio door away.  even then, they always come back.  

eat up you bastards. 

the battle lines of winter are being drawn and i have nothing better to do.

until darkness arrives.