This time of year, melancholy creeps in all too easily. Summer verdure has frosted over to monochrome. Trees raise bare, imploring limbs to a troubled sky. Darkness falls early. But those wind-stripped treetops reveal leaf-shag spheres sheltering families of squirrels and, down in the tangles of dead grass, little dugouts among tree roots, under stone walls and foundations signal burrows for all the ground-dwelling fur folk.

A pair of doves nestle under the eaves, their twig bedding somehow miraculously sufficient. The hanging basket outside my door, its million-bells petunia long gone, has become a de facto home improvement store for the sparrows and chickadees; every morning they dive-bomb it and flit off with fat beakfuls of cocofiber liner. The instinct to nest runs strong in all of us these days.

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexual language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be proactive. Use the "Report" link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.