The newspapers and media are hollering about stocking up on milk and bread, which leads me to wonder if people eat milk sandwiches. I don’t drink milk, and I have plenty of bread. I love bread, which is a downfall of mine. Too much bread and I am unattractive. However, I do shake the crumbs and seeds out of mostly-empty bread bags and make snacks for the birds.
This morning, M. and I suited up, took a WALKING STICK which is mostly decorative but useful, and headed out into the freezing rain and slushy snow. We poured salt on the back steps, which in my mother’s parlance would be the “dooryard,” or “doah yahd” if you want to get way New England on it, which had mostly faded from her speech but could be easily restored by proximity to a fellow traveler from, say, Framingham or New Hampshire.
Anyway. The birds. M and I reloaded the bird-feeder outside my studio window, which you see here. A lady cardinal (Claudia Cardinale?) is dining on the seeds. Her man is not in the shot. Neither is the woodpecker who sometimes noms on the bricks.
Good work done for the ice-storm.