Pigeon Behavior in Cold Weather

To the backyard naturalist, there is always - always - something fascinating, even amazing. I sincerely believe that God put me on this earth to be fascinated, amazed and delighted at His creation. This week, it was pigeons that surprised me and made me smile.

Through many Vermont winters, I have noticed that as the weather gets colder, pigeon behavior changes.
There's a school across from my workplace. All summer and into the fall, pigeons haphazardly place themselves on the school's slanted roof. As summer wanes, they move up to the top of the roof.
When the cold comes, they move from the roof to the power lines between our buildings.
The colder it gets, the smaller their personal (pigeonal?) space becomes. Around freezing, they may be a pigeon width apart. As it gets colder, they get closer. When it's really cold (subzero), they are touching or missing entirely from the wire. (I don't know where they go.)
I've enjoyed my little birdie thermometers. By the time I get to work, there they are, agreeing with me: "Baby it's cold outside!"
Earlier this week, I saw something bizarre. I saw that the pigeons thought it was about 15-20º F. They were spaced a half-pigeon apart. It was in the 30ºs that morning. Wait, what?
And then I realized that pigeons react to the weather the same way we do. Just think: in the summer, if it drops to 40º, we complain how cold it is. Why then, when the "January Thaw" comes, do we strip off our coats (and, at UVM, lie on the rooftops in bathing suits) and revel in the 40º warmth?
[I digress, but I am totally serious. Whether it is the January thaw or mud season, Vermont folk don flip flops and shorts. It's in the rule book. Some Vermont folk never stop wearing shorts. I'll still wear capris to work, but that's usually when I haven't done laundry.*]
What I had thought a measurable indicator of temperature (the pigeon spacing) turns out to be much more subjective. My dismay was only temporary. I can safely predict that as November turns to December, my bird-ometers will have re-calibrated.

*For the skeptic, here is a picture I took of my feet the year Lake Champlain flooded, affecting so many for so long. It was April, but you get the point.

Blessings and stay warm!

For the Grammarian

     It is a tough time for grammarians.
    Admittedly, (American) English is a living, evolving language. Words rise, words fall.     The twenty-first century, however, comes with a cataclysmic event that threatens grammar as we know it.
     The asteroid that struck, the deluge that drowns, is the internet. 
     In itself, the internet is not inherently evil. It isn't even sentient! (Or is it?) On the positive side, users of social media may connect with friends, plan gatherings and follow world events. On the negative side, there is an obvious lack of privacy. Even so, posting pictures of one's children, vacation dates and birthdays is still volitional.
     If you want to make a grammarian cringe, just show him or her your social media page. Attack him or her with the plural pronoun instead of the singular. Confuse the possessive and contraction of a pronoun. Let your autofill control your text and don't proofread before hitting "send." Let the computer determine whether your apostrophe looks like a "6" or a "9."
     Some of us still remember from Sunday school that we should "judge not." The phrase is incomplete without the rest of the verse. Jesus instructs us to "judge not that ye be not judged." I believe it means that if I were to hold a harsh standard, I should hold it to myself as well.
     I have weighed myself in the balance and found myself wanting.
     Long ago, I began using sentence fragments. Doctors and caregivers want only facts in a nursing note. Sentence fragments save time.
     I then learned and practiced screenwriting formats. My sense of grammar took another hit.
     I now frequently ignore capitals. 
     Before you become enraged at my most recent offense, I ask for clemency. My dominant hand has been immobilized for three months. Typing with one hand made me evaluate what is truly important in life: family, friends and social media. Typing in lower case allows me to use just one hand. Most of my facebook posts are now lower case.
     What followed was an e. e. cummings type of joy. As only the virtuoso violinist can intentionally sound truly awful, a true master of the English language has at his or her command the most wonderful range of intentional mistakes. In those intentional mistakes, I have found new freedom.
     With freedom comes responsibility. And with that realization, I promise I will not use a reflexive pronoun as a subject. I promise.