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.