Saturday morning

I woke up at 8 feeling like I'd gotten to sleep until noon. Are all these 5 am mornings turning me into a morning person? I never would have thought that possible, but I think that's possible.

A short walk to the neighborhood cafe and on the way, a chat with Lee, the Italian woman who lives on the corner. One of these days, I'll take a picture of her backyard for you. It is just the cutest old lady decorating with flowers and sea shells project you ever did see. I say project because the whole yard looks as though it belongs in a shoe box, on display, as a diorama of itself. This morning she was standing in the middle of her work of art, right next to the bird bath that is the centerpiece of it all, screaming and clapping at the pigeons perched on the wire overhead.

"Good morning, Lee."

"Good morning," she said, sounding unconvinced.

"Are you trying to scare the birds away?"

"Yes. They poop. They poop everywhere. On de flowers. On de shells. On de chairs." (Strong emphasis here, as few things are more offensive than defecating on a sweet old woman's lawn furniture.)

"They want to come and take a bath, that's fine. But they are not allowed to sit up on dat wire and poop in my yard. Take a bath here and poop somewhere else!" she yells, waving her hand at somewhere else.

"Is it working, the scaring them away bit?"

"Naw...look at them. They couldn't care less."

Indeed, they looked exactly as though they could not care less, as though they had no intention of holding their bowels until they got to the suggested somewhere else.

Pooping on a perfectly lovely diorama.
Some gall, those pigeons have.
Some gall.