I wrote in The Bluebirds of Keith Jarrett about The Wild seeming not to signal its children to move on.
Four days later, our area looked like this:
Needless to say, migratables had migrated quickly.
Our hope is we provided fuel for their flights.
Meanwhile, two days after WinterMan walked through our backyard, an Opossum sallied forth.
I’ve always wondered why nothing ever sallies fifth. Or third. It’d be great if they medaled at least once, wouldn’t it?