Pecker Head

I was reading The Return of the Modern Philosopher while sitting on my deck next to the hill.  No, he’s not the title of this post.  The point is, I was engrossed in my reading.  So much so that it took a comment and a like before I heard the long unfamiliar sound nearby.

It wasn’t the pug. It was not his nails on the wood. The wind had stopped. The chimes were silent also.  I listened. It was a pounding. But softer.  Light rhythmic work.  I started to enjoy it. It was outdoor musical tapping.

In this long-awaited Spring, I’d forgotten to look up.

It was a glorious woodpecker. He was so diligent for so long. I just watched until he was done for the night. What a sweet pleasure. The birds are back.

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