Читать книгу Shaped by Snow. Defending the Future of Winter онлайн

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The moment stretches on. If I hesitate any longer it’ll become awkward. My stomach churns a little at the thought of meeting his grandparents. And, though I don’t care to admit it, biking on streets makes me nervous.

“Do you have a helmet?” I ask.

A few minutes later we’re coasting down Colin’s driveway. I feel a little silly, wearing a helmet when he doesn’t have one on, but I don’t quite trust myself to not fall over during this ride. It’s a quick trip, even with the stop at the bakery. Within ten minutes we are stepping off the bikes in front of a house with a pile of aspen logs on the front porch and a rack of antlers mounted to the garage.

“Does your grandpa hunt?” I ask, eyeing the rack.

“He lives for it,” Colin responds. As we walk up the driveway my ears pick up a familiar song coming from a tree nearby.

Weee-wooo. I turn my head, listening intently. I recognize the birdcall, but can’t place the name.

Weee-wooo. Then a series of garbled noises makes my memory click.

“Look, a black-capped chickadee,” I say, pointing to the black head and white breast as I see it.