A cold and damp Easter Sunday

All winter we have had a resident male pheasant. He has come to scratch for seed under the feeders and has fed on corn we leave in the adjacent field. This morning he was sitting disconsolantly on the wall near our front door. Then I noticed he was not alone. A second male was sitting a few feet away.

We await developements.

In the meantime, they have both fluffed up to cope with the constant drizzle.

I've continued to dust and move books from one room to another. It's tedious work, but every so often I find something that triggers a memory.