So, the little Junco sits on the pool fence, only three feet from my lounge and lens, as he checks out the situation before diving into the low shrub to feed the babies. He's become quite trusting, of late, and thus quickly deemed it safe to tend to his offspring.
Nearby lies Mambo, bred to guard and doing just that. He ignores the Junco but watches my every move; he rarely sleeps when I join him by the pool. He's ultra-cautious, when it comes to the safety of our family. Not to worry, though... an "It's okay, Buddy!" from us earns instantaneous trust.
Ike sleeps nearby, looking towards Mambo, rather than me, his human. He used to sit rigidly, watching me do laps or sunbathe. Never called to my rescue, perhaps he's now confident of safety in our space, as he rests his eleven-year-old mind and body. He willingly forfeited the sentry position to his young canine brother. There seems to be major trust in his posturing, don't you think? I can almost hear his snores.
A quiet day... no sweet, little Baby Grands requesting grandparent cannonballs into the pool, snacks or drinks every ten minutes, or warming towels held ready for departure from the rapids. I pray that all are in trustworthy hands, at various summer day camps. I miss their Beautiful Noise (ND).
My mind remains in high gear. This is relaxation? What to do? I trust that when another day affords me such luxurious downtime, I'll be able to get back into my groove, my music, my book. Everything in life is just a matter of... well, you know...
One, two, one, two, three, four....
