In the Storm

The stormy weather that had been approaching us for the past week has arrived with all its bad manners and ill temper, holding us hostages in our homes except for brief tantalizing glimpses of sun and blue sky.  Because it's so gray and heavy outside, the only way I can tell one part of the day from another is by paying attention to my appetite or need for sleep.  Without looking at the clock, I feel like it's 10 AM, but it's after 2. 

There have been some big gusts of wind that have thumped the house soundly.  Rain has soaked things already, driving in from left, right, front, back and sideways.  By all accounts, we need this good soaking, and we are all grateful.

The trees are doing a restless little rhumba out there as gusts of wind shove against their branches, but it's a lull at the moment.  Starlings - trash birds because they are non-native - are squealing and chittering, probably recounting the morning's flights to each other.  "You know Sam? Saw him go by a few hours ago.  Was taking aim at a pine branch at 20 feet and missed it.  Twice!!! HAW HAW HAW!!!  Starlings yell and pound the countertops when they talk, whistle at the girls, full of themselves like that, horning in on nests they didn't build and hogging supplies whenever they can.  Other trash birds you've seen around are English Sparrows, pretty dominant in most human-inhabited areas.  They have the most tuneless call, a shriek really, and grab food off plates at outdoor cafes like tiny wild dogs with feathers.  I do believe that if any bird species can snarl at one another, it has to be English Sparrows.  Cute but mean.  They don't count because they don't belong here.  Not that I'd kill them - and this is off my subject - but invasive species throw a spanner into the works of a native ecological system. 

They're all out there - trash or not - dealing with this winter storm, taking opportunities to forage at the moment, tougher than we are.  We wondered where the sea otters go during storms as we looked at the Asilomar area yesterday.  Usually ineffably cute and charming, they float on their backs or make graceful curving dives to look for abalone and sea urchins, crunching them up with rocks they've found on the sea floor.  They need to groom their thick furry coats constantly to incorporate oils and air bubbles, and they need to eat all the time to keep their metabolic systems in high gear.  I think of them when I see the choppy, nasty surf whipped up by the wind.  Somewhere, somehow they're out there, staying alive.