Nothing Says Happy New Year Like a Deconstructed Bird

I'll do all my normal New Year's blog stuff soon enough: my 2019 book list, perhaps a resolution or two, but I'm too tired for that today. We drove all the way back from Staunton this morning, and while there wasn't any traffic (unlike the way there) it was still a five and a half hour haul, and I don't do very well in enclosed spaces.

Anyway, the house was still intact and there was a good omen for the New Year in the backyard: what seems to be an exploded/spontaneously combusted bird. No carcass, just feathers.

If you know how to read pattern, you can predict the 2020 presidential election. It's certainly obvious to me, but I don't want to ruin it for anyone.