I shut the screen door to leave for my walk this morning, and the first thing I saw was a big, fat robin sitting on the chain-link fence glaring at me. I hadn’t stepped on his toes, but he shot me a steely gaze, as if I had surely done so.  There he sat – motionless, his bright-yellow beak clasping a half-dozen long strands of dried grass.  “Building a nest I see?” was my comment to him, but he ignored my obvious question and didn’t budge from his perch.  I knew right away I had to spring into action, so I high-tailed it to the front yard to see if the robin and his cohorts had knocked down my jerry-rigged contraption over the front porch light.  Nope, it was still intact, so that meant that red-breasted bird was up to some mischief somewhere else.

I opened the garage and took out my corn broom, intending to whisk away “Home Sweet Home” wherever I found it, but that robin finally flew away, giving me no clue where that humble, mud-splattered abode might be. I took a quick tour of the backyard.  There was no nest way up high atop the yard light, probably because I chased him away multiple times the last few years … that is, assuming it was the same robin with that dour personality.  He’s up to no good and I’ll bet it is at my house, but his misdeeds were not to be discovered today.

Finally, I set off on my walk. Around the corner from my house, a nearby yard waste truck was whining and groaning as it struggled to munch up all the extra clippings and trimmings in overfilled yard waste bags.  The garbage man kept cramming more into the back of the truck and the truck’s grinding mechanisms kept rebelling, so it sounded like it was in pain and someone should put it out of its misery.  By now everyone has made the cut … you know, the first mowing of the season.  Lawn after lawn was bright green, lush and still sporting wheel marks the heavy mower had left behind.

There were dandelions everywhere – even the tall ones that my neighbor Marge sometimes describes as swaying in the breeze like a palm tree.

I finally strayed from the Boulevard and dipped down another side street, seeking a safe haven for the sake of my ears, since that truck’s grinding noise was indeed grinding on my nerves.

I noted that the warmish weather has beckoned a few more magnolia buds to suddenly burst open … these trees were “smarter” than their counterparts who permitted their bulbs to open up a smidge, then they promptly bit the dust during that cold snap a few weeks ago. The best is yet to come with this tree, as there are buds galore, and, hopefully after the storm rolls through tonight, these pretty pink blossoms will not be scattered hither, thither, and yon.