As the Hammer and I approached the park, me in shorts and a t-shirt for maybe the last time until mid-spring, we could hear one of our neighbourhood's peregrine falcons calling.
Scree.
Scree.
Scree.
Such a pre-historic call.
Once in the park we could hear the same magnificent bird causing a commotion in the hemlocks that stand over my neighbourhood like the RCMP once stood on guard for thee. My eye caught just a glimpse of the bird unsuccessfully hunting for a squirrel, the squirrel escaping into a tangle of vine maple and black shadows.
Did not see much of the falcons this summer. Just the once until today when a winged motorhead flew straight over me into the same wood.
After that one of my neighbourhood's young lovelies brought her two poochies into the park. The biggest of them the Hammer is friends with. The smaller one was one of those small dogs with a death wish. From its master's arms it grr'd at my dog.
Can't we all just get along?
As they passed I turned to check out the young lovely's ass.
Nice.
Scree.
Scree.
Scree.
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