There are times I sit in front of my little computer, thoughts somewhat arranged in my mind, but can't seem to let the ideas flow from the brain to the fingers, poised ready, waiting and wanting to do "their thing ". Frantically I begin searching for some sort of inspiration, please let the words come. Trying to focus on my thoughts only seems to cause more confusion. It's pretty sad when you can't even control your own mind! So, I walk away. Looking out the kitchen window, I focus, much like my mighty owl hunter, on movement. Nothing, yet a strange almost eery rope like object, gently swaying in the breeze catches my attention. With the multi shades of greens now blossoming in the preserve, the object seems to disappear and reappear continually. With my owl perched twenty feet away, any human movement my send the mighty hunter a warning. He too is focused on this object. Slowly I move away from the window, the binoculars within reach, I might be able to identify our long unknown hanging object. Looking through the binoculars, I now realize the owl's reason for such intense studying....my object is quite possible going to be his next meal. This SNAKE has been slithering through the branches, ocassionally stopping, listening, not wanting to be some animals's breakfast, he moves ever so cautiously. So I watch, waiting for this scene to play out.
Their seems to be an intermission in the drama unfolding outside my window, but my thoughts have turned to Baltic and the the little brook that flowed along side of Fred's News. Beaver Brook was home to many snakes. In early Spring our young patrons patiently awaited their return. Many times the snakes would be perched on the rocks sticking out of the brook or the edge of the restaurant's foundation. Perfect place to soak up the warm rays of sunshine. Snake sightings in the brook was a sure sign Spring had arrived! Mr. Bill not so happy, snakes not his favorite, he avoids them at all times. Unless of course they see him first. Rarely did the snakes appear in the driveway, but for some odd reason, one year they preferred to sun themselves up there. The back dock or steps of Fred's News back entrance, also a favorite sunbathing area. Much to the dismay of Mr. Bill, these slithering reptiles scared the hell out of him. One afternoon, he is carrying trash to the dumpster, doesn't see a snake on the back ramp until he almost steps on it. Trying to avoid contact, a series of events unfolds, resulting in Mr. Bill falling off the ramp, into a puddle, skinning his knees as he hits the gravel driveway, rolling over into a puddle, As he returned to the restaurant, whining all the way, not making any sense, Todd and I heard the word SNAKES. Heading outside I look for the reptile, which of course had quickly slithered back to the brook. Understand, if I were the snake about to be crushed by a size thirteen, or even worse, sat on by the falling two hundred thirty pound body of the Egg-Nazi, I too, would have returned to the safety of the brook, at lightening speed.
Beaver Brook, also home to many of the little field mice, that seemed to sneak into Fred's News, during the cold New England winter months. At the first sign the intruders had returned, traps of all kinds were set. Some however, would make a "run for it" rather than succomb to an untimely death. Most of the critters were in the basement, but ocassionally, a rogue would break free and appear in the restaurant. In the twenty plus years at Fred's, only once did an itzy bitzy mouse make an appearance....during breakfast, his run for freedom began. Some never saw or felt him as he ran over their feet. They were just cozied up to the counter, sipping their coffee. Some tried to catch the bad boy, others screamed.....his sprint, a galliant effort. He disappeared, only to reappear in the traps the following day.....stiff as a board, his last meal, peanut butter laced bacon.
Again I sneak a look out my window, the owl's gaze fixed on the snake, but I sense drama about to come to an end. The gentle breeze is now more a wind, the snake's protective leaf cover, blown aside. I hear a screech, not my owl but another large feathered hunter, the mighty clawed Osprey, swoops in, grabbing the snake, disappearing above the canopy of the preserve. Looking at the owl, I realize, he is sleepy and probably digesting his evening meal. Tonight while the Osprey settles into his nest, the majestic owl will once again rule the preserve.
Their seems to be an intermission in the drama unfolding outside my window, but my thoughts have turned to Baltic and the the little brook that flowed along side of Fred's News. Beaver Brook was home to many snakes. In early Spring our young patrons patiently awaited their return. Many times the snakes would be perched on the rocks sticking out of the brook or the edge of the restaurant's foundation. Perfect place to soak up the warm rays of sunshine. Snake sightings in the brook was a sure sign Spring had arrived! Mr. Bill not so happy, snakes not his favorite, he avoids them at all times. Unless of course they see him first. Rarely did the snakes appear in the driveway, but for some odd reason, one year they preferred to sun themselves up there. The back dock or steps of Fred's News back entrance, also a favorite sunbathing area. Much to the dismay of Mr. Bill, these slithering reptiles scared the hell out of him. One afternoon, he is carrying trash to the dumpster, doesn't see a snake on the back ramp until he almost steps on it. Trying to avoid contact, a series of events unfolds, resulting in Mr. Bill falling off the ramp, into a puddle, skinning his knees as he hits the gravel driveway, rolling over into a puddle, As he returned to the restaurant, whining all the way, not making any sense, Todd and I heard the word SNAKES. Heading outside I look for the reptile, which of course had quickly slithered back to the brook. Understand, if I were the snake about to be crushed by a size thirteen, or even worse, sat on by the falling two hundred thirty pound body of the Egg-Nazi, I too, would have returned to the safety of the brook, at lightening speed.
Beaver Brook, also home to many of the little field mice, that seemed to sneak into Fred's News, during the cold New England winter months. At the first sign the intruders had returned, traps of all kinds were set. Some however, would make a "run for it" rather than succomb to an untimely death. Most of the critters were in the basement, but ocassionally, a rogue would break free and appear in the restaurant. In the twenty plus years at Fred's, only once did an itzy bitzy mouse make an appearance....during breakfast, his run for freedom began. Some never saw or felt him as he ran over their feet. They were just cozied up to the counter, sipping their coffee. Some tried to catch the bad boy, others screamed.....his sprint, a galliant effort. He disappeared, only to reappear in the traps the following day.....stiff as a board, his last meal, peanut butter laced bacon.
Again I sneak a look out my window, the owl's gaze fixed on the snake, but I sense drama about to come to an end. The gentle breeze is now more a wind, the snake's protective leaf cover, blown aside. I hear a screech, not my owl but another large feathered hunter, the mighty clawed Osprey, swoops in, grabbing the snake, disappearing above the canopy of the preserve. Looking at the owl, I realize, he is sleepy and probably digesting his evening meal. Tonight while the Osprey settles into his nest, the majestic owl will once again rule the preserve.
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