The birds

Dreamt of tiny birds last night. Each a loosely knit bundle.

Now, with the Catskills as their backdrop, am looking out at the who's who of northeast birds, waiting, alighting, hopping down, up and over to my feeder.

Installed a utilitarian model last weekend and filled (now 1/2 emptied) with crowd-pleasing black oil sunflower seeds. It's attracting everyone save for the goldfinches who - bless their palettes - like a finer, tinier Nyjer seed that requires pin holes for feeding.

I hung their buffet on a tree I can't see from my seat. According to Lyric Bird Food package, I needn't worry:
"Even on windy days, finches will delightfully feed on a swaying feeder."

There's too much to do in this house, in this country life, with hardware lists running to pages (water softener and, my god, a plunger, Scrubbing Bubbles). But I'm rooted here, watching the birds and humbly flattered they've chosen my feeder. I'd steeled myself for initial heartbreak - the feeder came with instructions for soft hearts:

Birds may take some time to find and become accustomed to your feeder.
Allow a few weeks for full activity.

C - who's found a hobby and a local crowd