Journaling a lot these days. Usually in the mornings, sitting at the little balcony at the back of the house overlooking the park. So there was the pair of them on the telephone wires opposite, tinted versatilely in gray, swinging. Two salmon-red feet each and a shimmering green speckled neck. They had figured out how to tip the body a tiny jot from beak to tail-wing, and it was a treat to witness that solemn, gentle sway. Till with a flash of black and silver wings, they flew away.
And in the park a dog was rolling in the grass.