I'm sitting at my desk and birds are flitting by my window. Lots of them. They're hopping in and out of the brush in the abandoned field next door. They're dancing along the fence rail. They're chasing rivals away from the feeder. And they're courting.
So this counts as work, right? Courtship and romance are universal.
All right. I will get back to my fiction, but the interlude was nice!
Seeing Red coming soon to Freya's Bower