Past middle age

I did not know: The Bird Man is a motorcyclist!

Each day in his yard, pouring out fresh water for his feathered visitors, he hobbles to complete this daily task. And now, here he is, in usual T-shirt and sagging, beat-up denim, perched on the seat of a Harley — its engine choking and rumbling on a cool September morning.

It all makes sense, too — his hobble and the Harley and everything else. It all dovetails seamlessly.

Fly, Bird Man, fly,! For the migration season is upon us!