Everyday I look outside at the feeder and everyday I see the same birds. They are beautiful and interesting, but of course I am always looking for something new. When at last you have finally given up and open the curtain expecting to see the same old friends, you get a surprise, and new birds are sipping away at the last few grains of seed in the feeder. This happens every week or two, and the pattern goes: I’m bored and then surprised. It’s so human, so predictable, to not think anything will change and then be surprised by it changing, even though that’s what it’s always been doing, ever since the beginning of time.

Last week we saw a pair of Carolina Wrens, their warm rufous color shining out admist the blues and grays of the juncos, chickadees, titmice and jays. The other day there was a bird convention, tons of birds, even though the feeder was empty. There were flocks of Mourning Doves and Starlings, which I’m not thrilled about; we rarely see them, which is fine with me. Starlings are greedy and shifty, and Mourning Doves are the deer of birds, beautiful and limpid eyed, but you can't help but to think that they must be dim. Not the usual suspects, but fresh faces nonetheless, although, starlings and doves wear out their welcome almost immediately.

I went out to the barn in order to fill the feeder and up in the black walnut tree was, of all things, an American Robin. It seemed a little early to see this bird, and I was puzzled, but pleased to see him. Maybe the weather forecast for five below zero was wrong!

Later on, once inside and watching the birds gather to the full feeder, I noticed a different shape on the top of the dead tree on the edge of the marsh. I focused on it, and it was a Eastern Bluebird. Bright blue, with a brownish red breast and white under belly, he was eyeballing the old bluebird box, sitting on a tree next to it, then flying to another branch, all surrounding this little home. Then I saw a sparrow in the little entry hole, peering in, much to the chagrin of this bluebird. I have never seen any birds interested in this house, or even near it, except for the woodpeckers, who have bored holes in practically the whole tree it is affixed to. It’s barely a tree anymore, actually. The bluebird hung around for the morning and I haven’t seen him since. It is always a treat to see bluebirds.

This morning it’s cold and sunny, and the sky is a flawless blue. (Does that mean clouds are flawed? Or flaws themselves? Certainly not.) The birds are incredibly active, as they have been for the past few days. Again, I wonder, do they know something we don’t? Is the robin back because we’ll have an early spring? Wishful thinking, says I. The rational side of me thinks: they must not have very much to eat in the wild, and only now have decided to take a hand out. I guess the jays, juncos, chickadees and titmice are less proud than the Red Winged Blackbird, who have gathered en masse in the backyard today. They are nervous and the slightest human movement makes them sweep up and fly off to hide in the pines further from the house. The group was mainly female, which are brown and plain, thrush-like, and the few males stood out, glossy black with their pale yellow stripe, once red, dulled by winter.

Lately I've been walking in the forest on the other side of the marsh. I walk across the ice, trudging through the still thick but fluffy snow and climb up the hill that is lined on either side by old stone walls. My theory is that it used to be a road of some sort.

The other day when I went it was cold and the wind was blowing fiercely, and the clouds were passing quickly over the sun, making for a moody day. I began tracking an animal that I though might be canine, but at the top of the hill a big tree has covered the path and it made me stop. All was quiet. And then somehow I began to feel like I was being watched. I turned around, realizing that running (from what?) through foot deep snow over land that's twisted with dead branches and trees would be a real test. My heart felt a little quick and I had the immediate intuition that I should turn around and head home. Not being a true naturalist, I did exactly that.

Yesterday was bright and sunny, and warm! 25 degrees! I headed out across the thick ice, and up the stone lined path. The feeling of the day was completely different, the sun was friendly and as I stood quiet midway up the hill, listening, fishing for a gut feeling, the outcome was nothing but cheerful and calm. I continued up the hill. In a trackless plane of snow, I found a clump of soft brown fur, and put it in my pocket for further inspection. It smelled like clean dog.

I headed up to the top of the hill and looked down in the wooded valley, white except for the dark slashes of bare tree trunks and winding vines. I continued on the ridge and came upon man tracks, so easily tracked. I followed this man, and his dog, for a while. I thought maybe the fur was of the man's dog. Are they hunting? Are they just walking like me? Was it them I sensed when I felt as if I were being watched?

I wasn't put off by anything on this hike and continued back to the edge of the marsh. I stood still in the sun, and the forest began to come alive the longer I remained quiet. Chickadees crawled over pine trees oblivious to me, a foot away. Then I noticed a crescent shaped bit of water that wasn't frozen. I quietly walked over to it, and heard the call of the kingfisher, who I was surprised to find was around in this weather. He was rattling away at me, and I started to believe I must be near his burrow, as they nest on the ground in dirt holes. As I stood still once more a flock of ducks landed to rest on the water. One false move, however, and a crack of a branch had them all flying off. The machine gun rattle of the kingfisher got quieter as he bailed north.

Later on that night, as I read by the kitchen window I heard some low howling. Not sure if I heard it correctly, I stepped outside onto the porch, the blue of the sky illuminated by it's reflection in the snow. I heard a neighborhood dog bark, followed by the unmistakable howl of a coyote. Once inside I inspected the fur clump again. I'm very taken with the idea of it being coyote fur.