Look Out!

                                               Look Out!

I put on my sunglasses and cap, tipping it forward to limit exposure. Before leaving, I opened the blinds a touch and noted that it was sunrise. The skies were a light grey-blue without any clouds in sight. I would have preferred cloudy or even foggy conditions for this mission.

I slid down a bit in my seat as my car exited the garage slowly. The door has developed a slight squeal which may call attention to my leaving. I regret not fixing that as I backed into the empty street.

At the end of the street I spot an elderly man standing by a squatting ugly dog. It probably was a mix between a miniature poodle, a cocker spaniel and a long- haired dachshund. The dog, not the man, though he was fairly ugly too. The man gave a slight raise to his hand as I approached. He clearly wanted nothing to do with me as he stooped to take care of business.

The rest of the brief ride was uneventful. A few delivery trucks passed by with anonymous drivers and no greetings. I pulled into the farthest corner of the empty parking lot glad for the privacy. As I opened the door I was assaulted by a mocking bird’s super loud rendition of a dozen different songs or noises made by God knows what. There was an urgency about it. But I was most concerned that this performance would attract more than a female mocking bird. I didn’t want anyone to observe my arrival.

I wandered into the safety of the woods, still checking for any intruders. I finally came to my spot and paused, looking and listening to the sounds of nature. The high pitched call of migrating yellow warblers formed the soprano line. Beneath that the alto section was ably filled by the loud repetitive and urgent calls of the Carolina wrens. Then the percussion section, the steady beat of the downy woodpecker kept everything on time. The silent yellow crowned night heron stood perched on a fallen log, leaning forward ready to strike the symbol crash.

As the symphony entered its final movement I was startled by the sound of foot steps approaching. I looked around for an escape. The only way out of this dead-end was to scale the rails and disappear into the water below. I recall a movie where someone in a similar spot survived by breathing through a reed. As my foot hit the first rail a voice bellowed, “Good morning!”. Too late. What could I do? I mumbled, “morning”. I looked at my watch. “Gotta run, have a nice day”.  I passed him quickly clinging to the rail as I scurried away.                                      

 This social distance thing is getting on my nerves.