I’m not obsessed with fish...well, maybe a little. Another bird got killed on my feeder yesterday. For seven years not one bird got hurt, and now two in two weeks have got their feet caught in the decorative copper leaves that are attached around the feed cylinder. It makes me want to cry. I have to replace it.
The rain keeps coming down. At least it’s not snow, and the house flipped. I’m fine, not driving, and, as always, fearlessly optimistic.
I watched the news, and listened to rain hit the roof of the double wide. So far the hills have held here. The creek that feeds into the bay is running high, but within its banks. So far so good.
I’ve never been a winter person, but we really have no winter here. I think winter is hard wired into my brain, and it comes now even without the freezing cold. I have to remind myself that the temp was in the high fifties yesterday. It’s 49 now.
We fished for blues. Bluefish are not bottom fish. They are killers, with razor sharp teeth and voracious appetites. They bite, and fight...pound for pound they measure right up there among the fiercest fish in the sea. We killed them.
I’ve got to get a new feeder.