My friend, Dusty, and I walked a couple miles in the mall this morning. It's fun to walk with someone to talk to, but I can't wait until we can walk outdoors again. I suppose we could have walked outside today but we're not sure that the snow has melted off our favorite route along the river and I'm betting that it is appreciably cooler down there with the wind blowing across that cold water. Brrr. For now we can be content with laps around the mall with the headless mannequins in the windows all dressed up with no place to go.
March 15--Orient Beach, St. Martin. It was an amazing display of precision flying, we all agreed. Few pilots would be skilled enough to accomplish it. We sat on the porch of our beach cottage every morning and watched in awe at his skill and precision. The back porch shower head of the cottage across from our dripped, not a big drip and not constantly, but it dripped regularly and consistently. In that arid place with limited fresh water the local fauna was not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Lizards came, as did the little black and yellow sugar birds that were such accomplished beggars for crumbs whenever we ate outdoors, but the most astonishing drinker at the slowly dripping shower head was a male hummingbird. He flew in, buzzing by like a large bee, stopped and hovered, waiting until the perfect moment when the next drop fell. He'd swoop in and fly straight up, positioning himself so that the drip dropped right in his beak. Perfect every time. We never tired of watching.
And that's a true story.