ribbons

Up early, to guard the bluebirds.   An exhausting day for that - this morning, there was a Sparrow in the back yard (to the fear and horror of all bluebirds, and the army of support-finches).   It was banished.   Then there were several over-ambitious flying sessions - I'm not convinced that they are both quite ready to go up on the yard wall yet.   Maybe tomorrow.   Is it possible to be a helicopter parent to a couple of baby bluebirds?

All this does is to prove to me that I would have been an extraordinarily anxious mother of a human, had I ever attempted such a thing.

I suppose I could draw some tenuous, tendentious link between these ribbons, left over from Christmas, and curled up in a bowl in the kitchen, and the Index for the Victorian volume of the Cambridge History of English Literature, which - now that I've got the hang of putting in all the references in XML, is remarkably fun (if slow) to work on.   But it would be a stretch, indeed ...