Last night, the bonehead neighbors up the street were launching bottle rockets in the general direction of a large hillside covered with dry grasses. Becky and I stood in the driveway, watching.
A familiar sound in the air: the barn owl, out for a night of hunting, was weaving frantically through the fusillade. It pushed hard against the wind. Finally making it to its nest in the palm tree, it screeched for another hour.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
Categories:
The Neighborhood
Wildlife
Send to Del.icio.us; Digg; Ma.gnolia; Reddit; Spurl; Newsvine; StumbleUpon
Login or Register to save this post as a favorite or email it to a friend.
