Not quite ready

But I'm ready.  I'm tired of the green plastic wrap that confronts me as I step out into my part of the world.  Even the taggers wont claim it, as they rarely target the green tarp with their turf scrawls.  Probably some sort of tagger hierarchy of target acquisition of which I'm unaware. My trash can, on the other hand, has been claimed by a mysterious someone.  Fine, I say.  Then you, mystery tagger, take the cans to the curb in the morning and bring them back to the sidewalk at night.  I never liked that chore anyway.

In the morning, when the light first promises the new day, I'm now awakening to hear the geese flying overhead on their way to and from the oasis.  I hadn't heard that sound for over a year as the water was completely drained while the bottom of the lake was lined with clay to make it impermeable, to avoid water loss.  Now I'm hearing the honks regularly, mostly from the Canadian geese who populate the lake along with ducks and other water fowl.  There used to be blue herons at the lake that would nest in a tall pine on the far side of the lake.  During the day they would wade in the shallows while stalking small prey. I haven't seen the herons return yet.

One feathered friend that did not leave when they water receded was a red tail hawk who has hunted in the park for as long as I can remember.  I often see him circling lazily, or being hounded by crows protecting their nests.  Sometimes I see him perched on a tall limb dismembering his prey and it makes me think that we are merely interlopers on nature's blueprint.