A bit late for the new-moon musing I had planned to write this as, so forgive a hectic life and sleepy shift-changes (again).

Recently, some relatives of mine who live in a rather suburban town of 9000 people, expressed great joy and wonder at the recent small explosion of wildlife in their yard. They have a small bit of grass to mow, and a tiny creek burbling in the backyard, which has always been home to muskrats and ducks (the muskrats go through annual trap-removals, but always migrate back in to mess up the yard).

Lately, a hawk/falcon has made it’s aerie on the block’s tall pines, Great blue Herons have been seen wading in the feeble stream hunting minnows, and the neighbor’s house got an infestation of rats, with rumors of a raccoon lurking around the garbage pails at night.

On the plus side of this, my relatives happily tell tales of bird watching, squirrel feeding, and muskrat/rodent removal. All that wildlife up-close is great for semi-retired folks sitting on their back porch with a cup of coffee. The nepphews get to share soem of the joy I remember in my youth of feeding squirrels and watching BlueJays fight over peanuts, along with the more “exotic” Herons and hawks swooping around on rare occassions.

Sadly, while I can’t help but smile and delight in these wonders of nature while I visit, there’s a part of me that is saddened and worried for that same wildlife.

They see abundance and natural wonder.
I see habitat decline and forced migrations to a suburban environment. It doesn’t help that the hill I once stood atop of to stargaze with my father in my pre-teen years is now a development of sterile townhouse-clone-rows.

I like stars as much as I like seeing wild birds and critters.

I also prefer going to visit them, instead of the reverse.

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