SpunThese are the days of bird song, and the days when the songs are sweetest, for the fill a void that had become so common as to be lost from the senses. The birds are very much back. There is a small carnival of cardinals that frets and struts and strafes the back yard; they sing. The sparrows sit nervous on the budding branches of the maples, and the blue jays kick up a racket from down the hill some. The pigeons seem less interesting in my roof these days, taking up other gables. The hawks turn and wheel on the swift air of the valley.
We pulled hosta from the ground this morning, the earth warm enough to take a spade. We lifted up two shaggy masses, each to new homes, leaving one clump behind to foster and start anew. In the meantime: more space for vegetables. I hope to start in with squash this year, but I am behind already. It's alright. I saw the groundhog loping down the alley, a shaggy menace looking silly in daylight.
I mentioned the groundhog at the garden center, surprised to learn that they had had a massive groundhog problem, but now they do not: a grey fox has taken up residence in the woods below, and rodents no longer trouble them. They lost a cat, too, but this is something of how nature works, even in those spaces where we have claimed to claim them.
I wonder if they'd rent me the fox.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Mail accepted for the bears in the basement. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.