Repining

I’m repining in the quiet of another winter day. And no, this isn’t going to be poetry, and yes, repine is an old word. Get over it. How else can I say I’m tired of winter and I want to be out in the trees, the pines preferably? I am repining, damnit. Don’t try and stop me. Lent is brand new and already old. I was reminded this morning that cardinals have bi-color feathers, red on the outside, gray close to their bodies. You don’t really notice that sort of thing unless the cardinal feathers you sweep off the front porch get stuck to your jeans and you carry them inside to remind you later that owning several cats is not necessarily a good thing. There is another male cardinal hanging out in the snowball bush by the bird feeder. What possesses me to put out a bird feeder anyway? Am I an idiot? What is the female cardinal who had her eye on that male cardinal going to do now that his feathers are scattered all over the lawn? Will she take up with the other guy or what? See, I am definitely repining. I never see cats in the pines or bird feeders or anything sinister like that. When something kills something in the pines it has the decency to eat it, none of this laying feathers and bodies on the porch sort of thing.