Feather Skirt

I spent my thirty minute tea time on Pinterest this morning.  Which means I feel like I should travel more, workout more, buy a Frenchie now and get married again, but this time at a vineyard with a long flowing gown.

For the most part, Pinterest is a catalyst for inadequacy, a waste of time, but I do have a Creatures page where all my animals go and I found this little guy right after I pinned a picture of shoes I will never wear.  He’s a Rufous-backed Kingfisher.  So cute, no cute is not the right word.  He’s little and elaborate.  He’s a flying piece of art.

He, and others like him, live in India, Indonesia, the Philippines and Thailand.  He’s solitary, which I guess means he doesn’t fly in a group, and he hunts from a perch over water.  He dives for insects and frogs.

There are so many things I don’t know.  I used to think if I was interested in birds, or anything for that matter, that I needed to go to school, study, become an expert.  Now, I’m just happy when I stumble upon something interesting and different.  The urge to know all I can about something is a trap.  It overwhelms and keeps me from learning anything.

Sometimes it’s enough to skim the surface and pick up pieces along the way, like the Rufous-backed Kingfisher.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Up with the Birds.

8 thoughts on “Feather Skirt

    1. He’s definitely cooler than a crow, although I don’t know, crows are almost human like. They freak me out a little. I’m not sure about the sound. Seems like it would be something high pitched because he’s so little.

    1. Thanks, Alys. Oh, I’m going to vacation next week and I just bought The Shining because of your fantastic review. My first scary Steven King. I’ll let you know if I can get through it without crying like a sissy girl.

  1. I was fortunate enough to have learned long ago: if you know a whole lot about a whole bunch of very diverse things, no matter how (otherwise) inconsequential–like the Roufus-backed Kingfisher–people will think you’re some kind of genius.

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