On the way home from yet another lengthy trip to a distant medical facility, I finally snared several shots of a hawk on Jackson Slough.  Through my windshield, with my motor running just in case of an oncoming car, I clicked through several frames before the bird grew skittish and lifted from his perch.  Even from several car lengths away and far below, the sound of my engine must cause him distress.

Later, I heard the neighbor’s dog barking and then the telltale shriek of the feral peacock.  I dashed outside with Canon in hand, and recorded the bird’s attempt to cross Brannan Island Road.  PresumablY the heat drove him to seek the river.  Not a minute after I went inside, I heard a lone cry.  I scurried to the yard in time to see a pick-up stopped on the road right where I had last seen the peacock.  I don’t know if it hit the bird or stopped to let it cross.  A few seconds later, a motorcycle accelerated due west, followed by the truck.  I haven’t heard the peacock since they barreled away.

Now I’m sitting in the warm air of my writing loft, wondering about these birds and how the throb  of humanity impacts them.   #Deltalife seems tame and lonely, but our cars rattle the rocks and boats cause the river to wash ashore where it might otherwise drift in gentle currents. 

My ears remain alert for the sound of the majestic bird which has cried all night for the last few days.  I hear nothing but the steady hum of the fan and the low growl of the dog outside my window.

It’s the tenth day of the sixty-sixth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

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