I'm sitting at my computer, looking out the window on a gorgeous day. The crayola blue sky is wearing a cloudy halo of gray and white, and the wind is blowing hard enough that the smell of fall is leaking in through the open windows. In my yard, I have a birdfeeder with cakes of safflower seeds, and around it dance a collection of chickadees and cardinals, flying and swooping and twirling. They take the seeds off to the hood of my car or the windowsill or the flower boxes to bash at the shells and eat their lunch. The chickadees are beautiful, stunning little black heads bobbing up and down from the top of the feeder. The cardinals, all of whom look pretty scrawny in an endearing sort of way, occasionally drop in heavily from the branches above and push all the chickadees away.
I could watch them forever. I could watch my birds and the squirrels who are trying to steal the last of the black walnuts and the sky as it changes all day. I'm having a moment of wondering how, given the world that we live in, anyone ever gets anything done.