It’s July, high summer, and there have been rains and days of blue sky and at night the distant back-and-forth calls of the Barred owls. The yellow beans are foremost, the sweet onions, and soon coming the heavy-set tomatoes and yellow sunflowers. Quetzal and her friend Christine have been swimming at Lucus Pond with the dogs, baking shortbread, and we have been to the ocean in the early morning and likewise at night.
This morning a crow dropped into the garden for a duck egg I tossed out days ago. He landed, cocked his head, triangulated, hopped across a few furrows, crouched–and drilled that egg through. When I looked with binoculars I could see egg-shine across the length of his beak. And when he lifted and banked south toward Pawtuckaway Mountain, I’m almost certain that shine was his only load.