Redpolls Enchant Cayenne

Cayenne watched the flock of tiny Redpolls eating the hulled sunflower seeds mixed with thistle she had sprinkled across the snow mounds off the back porch. She loved watching these tiny finches, smaller than Chickadees. The tiny bird wasn’t bothered by the extreme temperatures; today, it was fifteen degrees Fahrenheit.

“Watching your Redpolls?” Mike hugged his fiancé from behind, holding a mug of coffee beneath her nose.

“Mmm, thanks, Babe. Yeah, it’s so cold. They are packing those seeds into their pouches and flying off. I love seeing that bright red head against the snow!”

Mike started a fire in the woodstove, and soon their little place was so hot Cayenne changed her turtleneck sweater.

The sun was low in the sky this far north, even though it was eleven a.m. “Snow clouds out there,” Mike called out.

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.” Cayenne went out front and sniffed the air outside. “I think you’re right, Mike. You better clear the drive again.”

Just as he started up the snow blower, large flakes began falling. Hoar frost had turned the birch trees into feathery frosty fingerlings, spreading their crusted forms and throwing shadows.

As sunset crawled in at 3 p.m., Cayenne and Mike drank coffee with freshly baked scones laden with wild blueberries they had picked last summer and frozen. They kneeled on their window seat and watched the Redpolls darting in for the seed before night fell. The thermometer was dropping.

“Look! It’s bedtime! She’s tunneling under the snow.