I cranked up the stereo to knit by and wondered when the mockingbird will be doing a Dan Fogelberg impersonation?
Earlier in the day, clearly the hawk dove in for his mourning meal. Michelle Millar writes that doves have a lot of dust in their feathers that they leave behind when they hit something.
It had imprinted on this house as its place of safety but discovered it to be a bit of a pane.
And yet I do think it had a ghost of a chance. I found no flurry of feathers. From all I can tell, it escaped the worst and it lived.
And the mockingbird de-clears the stained glass artist a one-hit wonder.
(Thirteen rows today, twenty-eight to go.)