Standing at the doors to the backyard, coughing my brains out, I noticed it was snowing. Sort of. My gaze moved up the birch trees in the backyard where there are dozens of birds enjoying a meal of the fuzzy seed pod things; the seeds raining down on the backyard as they snacked. Out of the dozens of everyday finches are two striking yellow versions, looking as if they just escaped from a pet store.
A weird looking amphibious plane, bulky and square, flew by. From Moffett Field? Who knows. I should look up more often.
