jumpingfish

Late morning: the Lesser Goldfinches have finally come, perched and pecking at the dried cone flower seed heads.

Early afternoon: A Wren fluffs in the bird bath outside the study window, flying drops of water glistening in the sunlight.

Late afternoon: A Bluejay just made off with one of our cherry tomatoes—time to go pick the rest.

Early evening: Four Eastern Screech Owls glide among the branches of the Ash tree.

Late evening: Trudy is sitting at her computer writing up board meeting minutes. Ben is eating cereal with strawberries and reading Howard Zinn.

Not a bad day, this.

1. Morning

In the cool of the morning, we went for a hike.

Through a Juniper/Persimmon woods. Up and down, in and out of ravines. Following a well-marked trail. Trudy went first. Guinness followed with his tail wagging most of the time. I brought up the rear. By the end of three miles, the sun had climbed into the sky, and Guinness was dashing from one spot of shade to the next, his tail no longer wagging. Our faces were all smiling when we returned to the place where we had begun.

It was a good way to start the day.

2. Evening

In the cool of the evening, I dug in the dirt.

Taking advantage of the soft ground from last week’s modest rain. Laying down cedar logs. Making a small terrace where we might sit in the shade in the late afternoon. And sit there we did, in the late afternoon, admiring the soft ground and the cedar logs and the shade, sweat running down our sides.

It was a good way to end the day.

1. Toad

Its almost dark. The heat of the day is finally letting go. Sweat is dripping down my sides, but the cooler air of evening feels good, and the breeze feels absolutely wonderful.

Something scurries on the ground, making straight for my feet. A mouse!? I’ve never seen mice here. I stomp my feet, and it dashes under the bench.

I turn around. There’s a toad sitting in our ground level water tray. It’s our “toad bath”. They find them. They can smell the water.

It sits in the water a minute or so and then hops out, making for the underbrush beneath the Monterey Oak.

2. Owl

There are chattering/scratching sounds in the branches of the Ash tree. In the fading light of dusk, the sounds are familiar. I whistle my Eastern Screeh Owl A-song [audio].

The chattering stops, and I can see three owl silhouettes in the branches looking down at me, bobbling their heads [video].

I whistle again, and the owls come gliding silently out of the branches, across my head and into the branches of a Red Oak on the other side.

The toad is nowhere to be seen.

“I didn’t see the woman with the brace,” she said from the other room.

“What?” I asked.

I was trying to find a Friday movie for us to go to and was having trouble figuring out what she was mumbling about.

“I didn’t see that woman. It was your own experience.”

The wheels turned a bit, and then I caught up with what she was talking about.

“You’re right,” I said. “It was my own experience.”

“It was your own experience.”

Because it was Friday evening and I was feeling good, I sarcastically added, “Yes, you’re right. It was. It’s my own blog. You can write your experiences to your own blog. Have at it.”

She laughed. I smiled. And now I’m in trouble for telling you this. … But it’s Friday.

I saw a woman walking slowly up the sidewalk along P Street.

She held a brace and moved deliberately, choosing each step with care. There was an ashen look on her face, as if she had been sequestered for a long time and had just ventured back into the outside world.

She wore a sweater over her shoulders, and the wind of early evening made me put on mine. She held a cigarette in her left hand.

We sat outside at a café waiting for our dinner, and I watched her make her way slowly up the hill, headed perhaps to the fountain at Dupont Circle, to the sounds of running water and the laughter of kids running around and the murmuring of people chatting after work as the sun’s last rays threw shadows across the plaza—a good place to recuperate.