Not half an hour after the yard guy left this afternoon, I was watching through binoculars when the red-shouldered hawk swooped down from the walnut tree and plucked a juicy lizard out of the newly-mown grass. It’s always a glorious time for the birds, right after the yard gets cut back. Later I saw a couple of crows chasing the hawk back and forth over the yard.

The yard guy wants to put wood chips down in the garden area outside my front door. He explained that he would take up the paving stones, lay cardboard, then the chips on top of the cardboard. Then he would replace the stones and it would be good for six or seven years. I told him I’d think about it, and I will. I’m beyond believing the landlord would pay for anything I want to do to this place. (For one thing, I’ve lived her almost ten years, and so far he’s replaced my toilet and— well, that’s it.)

It was also the yard guy’s suggestion that he come back and do the whole yard three times a year. That seems about enough to me. In fact, that seems to be exactly how often I’ve had him do the job for the last several years. I think it got away from us this time, because he had to rent some heavier equipment to get through the back yard. What I’ve noticed is that some of this year’s weeds have woodier stems and are harder to hack through than anything we’ve seen before. In fact, he even mentioned bringing his machete next time.

That hawk is beautiful up close, with its intelligent eyes and burnished breast, and that little golden spot above its beak. It’s skittish, though, and will fly off at any movement, even if glimpsed through a sliding glass door. That’s the reason I don’t have a photo of it. It’s a majestic bird with a screech of a call that doesn’t seem to fit its exalted position in the natural world. Just goes to show, you can’t judge a bird by the sound it makes. Not according to any human standards, anyway.