April 26, 2001: All in a days pay

Five blue jays cry out at sunrise—conversations of a different language. I listen for pace—I hear only screams. This is why so many dislike the blue jay. I’ve been told, “They’re very mean!” So are humans… The air is calm; maybe it was a warning—five blue jays protecting their surroundings. They’re the guard dogs of the forest, their echo reaching the distant crow. In time, they fly into the scene—usually three or four while one stays back to watch the soaring hawk. The dance is viewed, twirls and dives, sharp jagged plunges to scare away. Wait! I hear the cardinal and now the geese—the hawk is no longer near by.