Other than the 70 degree temperature swing?
Have you noticed the sound of birds?
Up here the difference is as drastic as the temperature change.
Summer has the symphony of lilting robin's song, the babbling-brook call of the redwing blackbird, and a host of feathered performers, sounding like the art and life of a bustling downtown street at its best.
Winter has the nasally, street-hawking call of the crow, bringing to mind the dark side of town with its alleys and shadows.
"Psst...
Hey, buddy...
Wanna buy some roadkill?"
But there is one other voice that stands out on a winter morning.
The small, chirping voice of the chickadee.
"Cheez-burrr-gur."
"Cheez-burr-gur."
This little ball of black-&-white fluff has a normal body temp of about 108 degrees. And it sits on its branch during those 20 below zero nights.
Tough little buggers.
It can drop its body temperature over 50 degrees, going into a kind of nightly hibernation, a sunset to sunrise tupor.
But it's still honkin' cold.
And it still sings its song.
Every morning.
"Cheez-burr-gur."
"Cheez-burr-gur."
Wow.
Me, I wake up groaning.
And impact my world accordingly.
Grumpy. Surly. Self-absorbed.
At least until the Elixir does its work. Or it's time for supper. Whichever comes first.
Dear Lord,
please make me a chickadee.
First thing to sing.
To make someone's day a little brighter.
Right off the bat.
But...
can I sleep inside?