Saw a few crows having discussions with a big red tailed hawk about what might have been disagreements about advantageous positions in a particularly large bare tree on the edge of the Blackwell Pond up by the leash-free dog field today. The tallest one, almost smack dab in the middle of this photograph.
The winds were coming in from the south in a strong, almost unfriendly breeze, punctuated by punchy gusts that were throwing surprised geese into ungainly manoeuvres as they tried to swerve and swirl in for pond-top landings.
Two tiny, flitting birds of a sort I do not know gave up heading across the dog field, and stuck with the trees at the pond edge. I hope they’re headed south and get there soon. They were so tiny and so beautiful: soft brown-gray and gray-yellow is all I could see, and all I could think of is “Some people look for alien life, but who knows all of what is here?!” They twitted and chirped to each other. They stuck together. They were in it for the long haul.
No people but me. No other dogs. Sky, pond, geese, for the most part. Wind pushing me up against the fence, elbows on the top wire. Listening to the world spin, spin.
Hours later, in the early supper time dark, here I am: dog fed, cat nestled against me, twinkling lights along both sides of the river, mild air.
I’ve got the Roku player, so Netflix and YouTube. I’ve got my free from the mail room community papers, and all the ads. For intelligence and infiltration, so to speak, and wrapping coffee grounds all week.
I’ve got that sky, and that air, and that pond scene, and am amazed and overjoyed that all those years of working and the fortunate circumstances that overtook me brought me here, and now.
Think about those little birds. Wish them home, sweet, home.