Squirrels are clambering about in the oaks and in the walnut tree, barking at one another as they bicker over the possession of nuts and acorns. Sometimes, the crows grab the nuts while the squirrels argue. They fly above the street and drop the nuts onto the pavement to crack the shells, then come down to peck out the contents. After they leave, the blue jays search the spot for crumbs.
In the evening, I watch the pale white crescent of the new moon shining through a patch of diaphanous pink cloud, as the pines are silhouetted against the deepening blue of the western sky. The very slightest chill enters the air, the buzzing of the bees stops, and the crickets begin to chirp. The new color fades from the trees, until dawn will restore it, even richer than today.
