In my perpetual overthinking, hazard of one with abundant time on her hands, I hesitated to post my morning laughter on Facebook. It begs to be told whether or not there is a listener, so the world must know how feeding the birds can be fraught with danger...and funny.
I've been watchful for snakes which sometimes view my bird feeders as their hunting grounds, slithery mooches. This morning, I heard a soft buzzing near the base of a crepe myrtle, one of two where I place seed for my avian visitors.
I try later to describe the sound to my husband, telling him I was at first looking for a baby rattlesnake, then theorizing it might have been an insect of the night winding down as the sun rose.
"It talks to you, too?"
Great laughter, the sort which would wake a neighbor if we had one in earshot. Yes, I suppose the crepe myrtle has begun talking to me now.
His sweet zaniness never grows old, even as we do.
