© DOCKYARD PRESS
by Meat and Bones | 肉そして骨
The sun cleared the horizon. The breeze carried hints of oncoming heat. I walked the road encircling the neighborhood. On one side, a ten-foot wall; the other, open desert.
A car passed, the driver disregarding the thirty mile-per-hour speed limit.
Desert sounds intermingled with those of the neighborhood: mourning doves cried, starlings rattled, air conditioners droned, purple finches chirped, black-tailed gnatcathers whistled, swimming pool pumps hummed, sprinklers ticked.
I saw and heard a male quail call to his mate. Her body lay against the curb, dead. He called then nudged her body with his head, hopped up the curb, hopped down and called then bumped her body again.
The male flew and landed atop the wall, called twice and waited. He flew down to her. He called then stood a few seconds more before flying away.