Colder

Frost has migrated to the house windows.  We shall soon resemble that winter scene at the dacha in Zhivago . . . I'll have to thaw the ink in order to pen my poems by candlelight.

Tenant

Something, presumably feathered, has drilled three neat holes in the rotting stub of the old side-yard rowan, left standing for just this purpose.  Two of the holes bottom-out, presumably on encountering a knot or other toughness, but the third continues in and down to create a winter roost.

We suspect a downy woodpecker, as the holes, at 1.5"+/-, look a little large for chickadees.  I haven't dragged out a stepladder to investigate and take precision measurements.

I wonder if we can collect rent.