A slow morning. Nearly half-an-hour to get my body to move in my
bed — this is not because of pain; it’s more like pushing against
great weight. I notice that my fancy bruises are fading. A hot bath to warm the muscles and ease a spasm,
then downstairs where I opened the shutters to a wide expanse of wings
— woodpecker.
I did not start hunting for the camera, just stood
at the window and watched as he flew from one spot to another. He
landed on the fence and leaned over to glare at the empty suet feeder,
like an angry little old man in a red cap. And off he went.
Perhaps I will go out today after all. One mustn’t earn the wrath of the bird gods.
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