a new cause on the wind, an ecosystem bends and changes, the housing all seems the same, the seasonal tides remain if slightly altered here and there, a long winter, a short one, some determined by the shadows of furry little ones, an indian summer, a harvest moon, a tempest, a teapot, a near monsoon, but this year a few new visitors have met, or emerged, never seeing more than one around these parts, now there is a skulk, the official word for a pack of foxes, albeit juveniles riling up the lines of dusk and dawn, little darts and clowns, bursting with curiosity and the retreat of supreme carefulness, but nothing might seem to trump the urge of both hunger and said curiosity, which may have killed a cat or two, but these three are not that, cats, that is, even if their manner at time might suggest so, but not surely dogs either with their easy come and go, so I lure them to a certain spot, out there on my sitting rock, so I can observe and perhaps indulge in their youthful exuberance and perhaps steal a bit for my own, waiting for time seems like hours when only ten odd minutes pass, makes me jealous of the Attenborough’s of the world, and appreciative of the chance, for when that moment comes, you want to jump and cheer out of your chair, but you must maintain your steely resolve, take a breath, and take the moment in, for as long as the minutes waiting seem, the waiting happenings flash, but take heart, those seemingly wasted moments fill up like a reservoir to be had and shared, seeing the cycle of life, like a movie spent bare, upon a rock, in my yard, laid out with apple slices to the delight of a few kits, in spring, the warm air, all is magic now, with glowing eyes in the light of my camera, everything new, everything grand, not one winter between them just a run of the land they claim their own amongst us going about our important lives.