Goodbye, Mister Bill's Browser

Most of the night was used up by dealing with browsers. I have fetched and installed the latest version of Opera. It isn't the best looking browser, but it works smoothly, can be used offline, and is flexible. I'll probably spend some time tinkering with it to see what it can do. So far I haven't figured out how to get it to remember my user names and passwords, but at least it can hang on to an image file, unlike a certain evil browser I won't name (but its initials are IE.) I might even try the built in e-mail client, and get rid of Outrage Express. I just wish it looked more like Mozilla.

Anyway, this all took too much time, and I need to get to sleep soon, but I want to mention that I've been hearing those unidentified birds (who might be geese and might be swans) all night. Huge numbers of them have been flying north. At times, I could hear the calls of multiple flocks from various points, and whenever I went outside, I was sure to hear more of them within a minute or two. A few of the flocks flew near enough that I could hear the rushing sound of their wings -- something similar to a buzz and a whistle and a whir, all at once. But even with the moon still gibbous, and though they flew not far above the treetops, there was not enough light to reveal them. The number of them passing suggests that they have begun their migration, so I don't know if I'll get another chance to see them by daylight before they have all departed. I'd really like to know what species they are.

Later today, things will be back to normal, I hope, and there will be my usual word trinkets instead of grumpy posts about Microsoft.

Instant Update: I just went to edit a bit of crappy HTML, and discovered a change on the LJ edit page. We now have the option of deleting an entry with the click of one button on the page, instead of having to delete everything by hand with the keyboard back button. Cool. That's going to make things easier. Maybe soon, a spell check feature will be available for edits, too. That would be even better.

Softened

The squat gray chimney of the gray house emits a stream of smoke which, as though crushed by the bright air, drifts close to the ground and swirls among the lower branches of the pines whose bristling clumps of needles the afternoon sun has flamed with gold and red. Small birds alight on the bare mulberry branches, linger a while and fly away with high pitched chirps. Another nearby stand of pine and oak echoes with the songs of larger birds, a cacophony of chirps, warbles and screeches. A jogger wearing red shorts and a dark green sweatshirt passes the house, his shoes padding the pavement softly as he vanishes behind a hedge. My windows are open, admitting the first winter air to carry a hint of spring. The migrating waterfowl I heard last night were accurate predictors. The smoke curling from that chimney seems almost like an error, an old habit refusing to die, or the evidence of someone's anticipatory nostalgia for the season soon to depart.