Exquisitely incrementally, little by very little winter daylight is increasing, hard though it may be to credit. And a few days ago, Irving was surprised to hear a cardinal sing its springtime trill. When he told me so I could hardly believe it. We are, after all, only half-way through January -- oh, a slight bit more than halfway; still...

The birds know what we do not, they are closer to nature and they respond to signals that we cannot identify. Their instinctual heritage, a survival imperative. We are delighted to hear their message. And yes, it's true, although twilight still creeps up on us before we feel it should briefly before the dark of night falls, it is slightly later in arrival.

We had a pair of bluejays at the feeder, happy to see these infrequent visitors. Were it not for the feeder we'd not have the pleasure of seeing them at all. They used to be so common particularly around the Toronto area, but here in the last few decades or so we've seen them only rarely, and usually in the spring in the ravine.

There was a pileated woodpecker, that giant of its type that flew close to us a few days ago in the ravine, undisturbed by our close proximity, fixated on a nearby tree trunk. When I first heard its call far off, and saw it in the sky I thought it was a hawk.

A flock of doves continues to visit at the feeder, and take their rest on the porch. We love seeing their peaceful presence so close by. Unfortunately that presence comes complete with the need afterward to scour the porch of their fecal matter. We've got a new newspaper carrier who hasn't yet noticed the hooks meant to receive our daily newspapers, hanging beside the front door. This carrier simply tosses the papers on the floor of the porch. Where, you guessed it, dove-poo with all the bacterium it contains, festoons it.