I write at my desk that looks out to our front yard through a wide window. Between the rosemary bush and the wild pomegranate tree various birds come to quench their thirst. I replenish the large dog dish with water every morning and evening. Sparrows and mockingbirds stop by frequently; some dare to take a bath, wings in swift motion. Crows would come but not so often and not without members of their colony. Only a local squirrel dares to join their crowd. At times they bring a dried out piece of bread and throw it in the water, then pick up the softened morsel. These sooth my heart from a deep sorrow as the smoke of forest fires billowed toward our skies from the mountains northeast of us.

On another day when the skies were blue, my neighbor’s daughter came to the corner of our lawn. She was seated in her stroller, the dad standing behind her. The few birds by the water dish flew to the nearby bush to check out this new visitor. The child’s face was beaming with a smile. The next day I scribbled these words on my kitchen calendar:

At the corner of our front lawn, what bliss!
Comes little Lana with Dad, in her stroller.
What a surprise, I see her hand throw a kiss,
My hand waving in such glee as neighbor.