B.B. Boudreau

Novelist | Singer

Winter Saves our City

The thermometer reads 10 degrees. Ten. There is no denying, it is winter. A nuthatch is clinging to the side of the suet feeder, bashing its thin beak against rock-hard lard. Goldfinches, chickadees and house finches all vie for limited perches on the feeders. When I leave for work, the wooden deck outside creaks and…

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Next Stop, Winter

Autumn (or Fall, as we always called it) is the most dichotomous season of the year. The magic slant of the sun glances through a canopy of flames clinging still to slender twigs, unwilling to surrender such short lives. Efficient factories, leaves are. They spend their entire existence – seven months at best – orienting…

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