A short distraction from formatting parts.

Frequent visitors to my clothesline birdfeeder are a pair of red-breasted grosbeaks, whom I lovingly call Mr. and Mrs. Arby Jeeby. They couldn�t be more different: he with his bright red bib, white belly and black wings, she with her drab brown and beige. Yet they seem totally compatible, politely waiting until the other is done before hunkering down on the perch and cracking open sunflower seeds. He sings a lovely song, but she doesn�t seem to have that much to say.

Another colourful bunch who hang around all year but show their brilliant plummage only in this season are the American goldfinches. I once put out a separate feeder for them of niger seed, but they also like the sunflower seeds just fine, so that�s what they now get. During the winter the cardinals come to feed, but in the summer they must get more nourishment from the surrounding woods, since I hear them all the time, but they don�t gather on the clothesline. Various sparrows also visit, especially the chipping and song sparrows. Another one I hear in the woods is the white-throated sparrow, but he never comes to the feeder, alas. I would love to see that one, which his white chin and flash of yellow at the eye.

In the morning and evening we hear other birds, carnivorous types. The robin is common enough, cocking his ear as he waits for the unsuspecting worm to peek out of its hole. His cousin the thrush doesn�t show himself, but we hear his song coming from the woods at dawn and at dusk. Hubby once set that tune for solo flute in one of his Greek-inspired orchestra pieces. It works quite well.

And now I come to the dawn chorus, that predawn avian ode to joy in anticipation of the rising of the sun and the beginning of yet another day. If perchance I should happen to be awake at 4:30 a.m. because I have to pee and the windows are open (as they tend to be at this time of year), it is next to impossible to get back to sleep because those damned birds make so much racket I want to get out a shotgun and scare them all out of the woods! They�re all doing it, singing and calling and gossiping like yentes over the garden fence or inconsiderate people whose hearing aids aren�t working properly at a concert during the pianissimo sections. It�s enough to drive one to distraction.

And having said all that, it is time for me to get back to work.