They've been back for a while. They arrived in the spring and then disappeared -- either going further north or to a local site for family raising. Now they're back in hungry numbers. This morning thirteen arrived while I was having breakfast, looking like an air force squadron but landing gracefully without need for a runway. Mostly they stalk along the lawn grazing and looking, I assume, for bugs as well as succulent greenery. Now and then when I have a stale heel of bread, I tear it into pieces and throw it out for them -- although I wish the cute little squirrel would come by in time to get some.
They usually stay two or three hours in the morning and then go away for a siesta, probably near or on one of the many little ponds, and then return in the afternoon for dinner. I like to walk across the lawn to where my car is parked instead of taking the slightly longer route on the sidewalk. But I have to keep my eyes on the ground because it's well scattered with their droppings. Joe, the handyman told me yesterday morning that he had swept up all the droppings on the sidewalk and in the parking lot but he knew it was a futile effort. I thought it remarkable that he went to the trouble of sweeping at all. He chases them when he's got the riding mower out. They may get vexed enough to leave for a while but they always come back. I like looking at them but their piles are an annoyance. Such is most of life, a mixture of good and bad.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!