That branch is a favorite king-of-the-mountain spot for feathered and furred because it offers a commanding view of the birdfeeder and the yard, but it is dead and is on our must-go list, I’m sorry to say. Too dry. Too flammable.
And then I noticed for the first time that there in front of the dense limbs and leaves it also provided room for him to open those big wings wide unimpeded to lift off at full speed if need be. Interesting. (Those branches that look big and in the way in front of him in the second picture are actually the little twigs around the birdfeeder.)
He watched over me for 28 minutes, occasionally telling the world about it, occasionally looking around at every leaf from his side–while the rest of the bird kingdom held its breath unseen.
Another grand scurry and all became still again.
And I went off to pick up my husband from work so I could tell him what the doctor said about the latest on the Graves results: autoantibodies that cause hypothyroidism and autoantibodies that cause hyperthyroidism. For the lucky patients, they balance out. Me, well, no. Several months of testing to come.
And I utterly forgot to give the doctor the hat in my purse that I’d knitted for his wife. Which answers my question as to whether it was the right project for her: no. Not there yet. But then knitting some more while having a spare for the give-away bag is not exactly a punishment.