Note to self

I've been home for a few days and the birds are just now beginning to return to the Bird Park, one or two here and there, although the ever faithful 7 o'clock magpie was right on it, gobbled up the kibble the minute I returned. She doesn't miss a beat. But it's lonely here without them all, even the quail have disappeared, and it's especially lonely since we cut down the big cottonwood tree that stood majestically over it, giving shelter to all, predator and prey. The park feels really exposed and vulnerable without it. We didn't want to cut it down but Dick's widow wanted to do it and, after all, it was just over the property line on her side so it was her call. It shocked us all. It was a great tree, really defined our little enclave but she wanted it gone and anything to keep the widow happy I guess. The rest of us neighbors thought of it as Dick's tree and were amazed she wanted to cut it down. Old Dick is barely cold in the ground. Anyway, the birds are slow to return, the weeds are high and Ratfink is still cavorting around Thailand which leaves me simultaneously jealous, lonely, insecure and grateful. The jealous part is self-explanatory I suppose, as is the lonely part. I am grateful because, in his absence, I finally made it to the Bay Area and connected with the poetry scene there. I was always waiting for him to go with me. Lame. I have to go back. Must not forget that. It is so easy to get lulled by our everyday life when he's home. Note to self: Must remember. Must go back, with or without him.