I've noticed that nobody's rose bushes are doing too well this year. Those in my back yard were damaged by the late snow, and have never fully recovered. The long hedge of roses across the street flourished for a couple of weeks, but the recent rain and cold left it nearly bare of blossoms, and the road verge choked with fallen pink petals which have now turned brown. Elsewhere along the block, only a few small flowers have emerged. Roses do not like a chilly, damp spring. But they might not need to endure it longer. Today was quite mild, the air buzzing with bees and filled with the happy chatter of woodpeckers. I also heard an unfamiliar bird call which came from the midst of the apple orchard. I was unable to see the creature, but its high-pitched screech was formidable. Perhaps it's best that it remained hidden. I picture it rending the flesh of small creatures and its eyes blazing with a Satanic light. Whatever it is, I'm not sure I want it to stick around. On the other hand, if it is a long-beaked creature who plucks the eyes from half-wits who leave their car's thumping, vibrating sound system on top volume while they have it parked in front of their house to be washed, the bird is welcome to stay until it has done its job. Bon Appetit, vengeful avian!