Faye had the better angle to capture this Rose-breasted Grosbeak waiting to approach one of our feeders.
A familiar rattle alerted me to the presence of a Belted Kingfisher. I saw it fly past before it perched on a post, watching, waiting
Achilles and Fitzi wait out a late summer thundershower.
The St. Clair River is asleep, waiting for spring – or at least a lengthy thaw.
When I arrived home this attractive little rabbit was crouched between the car and the gate. It waited, watched while I got out and edged circuituously by, dashing off only when I was about six feet away.
Our potted ornamental plants wait to be moved outside. They have been under artificial light inside, for months. One African Violet may not make it. Today is cloudy, near freezing, snowflakes falling, with a chill northeast breeze.
We wait, less than patiently now, for spring to arrive with its promise of pleasant evenings, sunny skies, mild times. However impatient we are though, spring will come in its own time and no sooner, when it is time, when it is ready. Much as I might prefer otherwise, patience . . .
This Mourning Dove waited for the right time to flutter to the ground and feed. It’s been a tough winter for songbirds and for all wildlife. I’m gratified to have been able to provide a little help for them. Like the birds, we wait for the snow to melt, wait for plants to begin greening, wait for spring.
Our regular hangout – our deck – from early spring into late fall, currently waiting for milder weather to return. We will likely take up residence before spring officially returns.
Taken with the PlayBook.
When a walk is in the offing, you will find Stella here. Not in the laundry room. Not near the door. Her butt is in contact with the door and she moves little if at all until her collar is slipped over her head.
No way the door will be opened without her being aware of it.