Walking the dog this fine morning — cool, dewy, light scent of honeysuckle still in places, the just-past-full moon bright in the pre-dawn twilight — I saw an early bird trying to get a worm.
It failed.
The worm wriggled on the sidewalk where the bird left it when we approached. The bird hopped up the hill toward the fence line, and I imagined it thought in its little bird brain the equivalent of, “I would’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for that meddling guy and his dog.”
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