A sad little drama played out in my side yard today. The mother starling, a worm in her beak, could hear her baby's cries. She stood on the grass and looked up at the sealed-off vent, where I had tried to discourage her from building her nest. She would fly up under the eave, and then, finding the entrance closed off, retreat back to the ground, walking in circles and still holding the food that would save the life of her offspring.

Meanwhile, in the newly mown backyard, starlings by the dozen pick their way through the grass cuttings, walking delicately and finding the occasional treat. I'm being punished, I know, for allowing my landlord to solve my problem so cruelly. The scratching all night long would have kept me awake, if I hadn't been so exhausted from the same noises the night before. I hope never again to have a night as bad as that one was.

What with all the bird torture and greenery whacking that's gone on here the last two days, I don't feel quite as much in harmony with nature. I even tried to see if I could get the screen off, but it's permanently attached. I did some laundry today, thinking the hum of the dryer might be soothing in my prisoner's last hours. Also, I was out of shirts.

By the time my shirts were dry, all was quiet inside the wall.

The combination of the John Deere thermometer on my porch hitting 80°F today, and the seemingly endless series of sleepless nights, made this a lazy afternoon. I tried to tailor my agenda to include only tasks that could be completed with my eyes closed and my head bobbing involuntarily. I was more or less successful, if not entirely effective.

Quitting time came a little early today, and I took my book out on the porch to sit and read. Later, I got a burst of energy and pulled out some weeds. Even with all the heavy duty mowing that went on here yesterday, I had one shrub that was all but invisible because of the high grass growing right up through it. I spent an hour or so clearing that out.

I didn't pour salt on any snails today, though. I didn't even swat any flies. Not today. I don't even believe in the death penalty, and my politics are as green as lime Jell-o. Even Christie Whitman's lime Jell-o.