24 May 2011. As if of old, a mid-day in May--afternoon breeze from the west, nicely cool, red-tailed plane far off in a clear clear sky...
The Oregon Junco, a small friend, long awaited under pine needles and camphor leaves. As was our visit this Sunday, up to the lake-- tall trees across dark green water. And one with many pale leaves, bending low. "My willow," says B, and so it is...
Her small figure on narrow wooden bench, fur-flapped pilot's hat, now at a slight angle, and layers of fleece. The modern kind, warmth--not Jason's quest. A family passes, speaking in Spanish. Mother, father and two boys--"ya vienen los varones..."--he smiles, repeating my phrase...
A love of words...
Two mallards appear, swimming by, also his and hers. Their solemn and welcoming grace...
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