The deer are 50 yards away moving silently in the woods. Their movement betrays them as much as their flicking white tails. Another few weeks of spring buds leafing out and I won’t see them at all. We glance at each other occasionally just to keep tabs, but otherwise go about our business in our own ways.
The red wing blackbirds call out in the forest, no doubt telling each other how close I am to the feeders they hungrily raid. They travel in packs, those blackbirds, and they make quick work of the seed. There’s a chorus of other songbirds surrounding the yard. I can pick out a few, others blend together. A lot of conversations this morning.
Writing this I’m buzzed by a fat bumblebee flying over to the flowering Mountain Laurel. A squirrel circumvents the yard eying me warily as it makes its way to the base of the feeder, looking for the seed the blackbirds toss aside as they pick through for the juiciest meal. A chipmunk scurrying along the fence joins the squirrel for an easy meal.
Human neighbors are using this time for chores. I can hear the hum of a pressure washer a few doors down, and hammering of something or other nearby. My chain smoking neighbor’s phlegmy cough invaded my space and I brace for the smell of her cigarette wafting over the fence. Some things aren’t welcome.
The air cools quickly as the warm sunshine gives way to overcast skies. The day changes quickly, and I’ll take it as it comes. We have places to go, family to see. I’m reluctantly getting up and heading inside. So much to do on this Easter Sunday.