Frost is nature’s graffiti. Jack Frost came in the night and painted on the window panes with his index finger. I imagine him as Peter Pan’s doppelganger cousin. An ageless mischievous boy who makes his art and flicks away into the night, thrives on the bitter cold and eats snow. He might also be responsible for […]
I might be in the minority when it comes to sparrows. I feel sorry for them. Growing up surrounded by bird lovers, I heard many a lament about the number of sparrows dining on suet and birdseed that was intended for the chickadees, cardinals and finches. Only the squirrels were hated more for this infraction. […]
January. I always thought the name had a cold, funereal sound. It implies a silence broken only by gusts of frigid, snow-laden winds crashing against windowpanes.