The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

24 January 2003

Utter chirplessness

During the winter, the resident birds serve as a sort of aural thermometer: when the temperature drops into the single digits Fahrenheit, as it did this morning, they keep their big beaks shut. If you're far enough out in the sticks, which I'm not at the moment, you think you can actually hear tree limbs freeze.

Closer in, the predominant sound is water running — either people are letting the faucets drip so that the pipes don't freeze, or the faucets (and everything else) are dripping because the pipes have already frozen.

Still, there's something peaceful about the whole scene. Or there would be, if I didn't have to drag myself off to work.

Posted at 6:32 AM to Soonerland

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