Did you ever feel as if you were being watched? As if some beady eye was following your every move? I got that feeling today as I was on my way to my car. Something hostile was in the air. Not only a feeling, but literally something hostile was in the air, I could see it up on the phone wire.
My whole life the word Chickadee has brought to mind a friendly little bird hopping to and fro in merry abandon. Never did I imagine the tiny ball of feathered wrath that now faced me. Or half faced me. Thank God it's not a predator since the glare of one of those eyes was enough to strike healthy respect into me, I don't even want to think about the affect of both at once. It made me feel a little too akin to that bit of bug it has sticking out of its beak and the nasty grainy picture is due to the hasty (but completely dignified) removal of myself from that particular bit of land.

Now, just like everything, there are two sides to every story. And to be fair, this birds is much more important than mine.

See this house?

Well, huddled up in this little wooden box are that chickadee's prides and joys. I don't know how many since it would be a pretty huge risk of life and limb to try and see inside. But I was reassured of their presence as I was retrea- umm... As I was practicing my speed-walking, by their endearing little squaks when they heard their parent nearby. Probably what they heard was a warning through its stuffed mouth, "Mpkids! Pshhhh! thhhere's mah hoomin walkin by!" and a worm lamenting having risen so early to become some thing's dinner. Alright probably, all they heard was "Dinner." Either way they were excited and were urging the parent on at the top of their little lungs.

Later in the day I was able to go back and get what I was after when my feathery foe had gone off to hunt some more.

You, dear reader, may have noticed a lag in blog posts. Well, you know how new love can be... Taking over every aspect of your life, inserting itself into every thought and moment of the day. I want to introduce you to my new love.

Meet Maggie. Or Bonny, or Margo... Or "Get up the hill you stupid *insert favorite curses here*". I'm undecided as to names yet, but she needs one. This and all the circumstances tied to my sudden affection for it is why I have not been blogging. I have instead been traipsing through Greenfield and Turners on bike-paths or breakdown lanes. Unfortunately I've forgotten my camera every trip so far... So no pics of the rides as of yet. But let me say the views I've seen from my bike are spectacular. Especially on the Turners bike-path that leads right down by the canal.

There are lots of birds down there including a particularly amorous set of Redwinged Blackbirds. I happened on a male whose pick up line involved turning hunchbacked and squalling as loud as he could. I was on my way to work and couldn't stop to see if his display got any results, but I mean really... Who could resist?

Really being on my bike has introduced me to something of a sub-culture. Dad has been biking forever, so I knew about that culture already (though the postal worker at work took it to a new level), but there's a whole set of people who make the bike-path a part of their daily routine whether they ride, walk or sit in their car. It's a strange thought to think I'm now a part of that. Here's an example of the people I've seen since starting to ride my bike.

It's early in the morning at the Fish Ladder in Turners. The mists that promise a warm day are rising from the water over by the dam and spinning off into the air shadowing the giant green bridge and red brick buildings. The water curls and laps against the haughty concrete walls and the only sounds beside that are the cars picking their way through the fog and the occasional bird who feels it has something to say. Life is scarce down here at this hour except for the squirrels and a series of ducks. There are three cars in the parking lot beside my own. One, a sleek silver car, the other a van, and the third a red car whose owner sits at the same picnic table with the same kind of pastry and the same brand of cigarettes every day.

In the silver car is another middle aged man. He sits for a few hours in the morning doing nothing but read a piece of newsprint and cast dirty looks at the ducks in the pond. Honestly! All morning he will stop his reading to glare at the four ducks while they swim.

In the van is a woman who does nothing but scribble. Her hair is tied up in a tight bun and she wears her glasses half way down her pinched nose which is perched on a pinched face. She looks like the kind of librarian who would hit you with the nearest ruler for speaking or laughing. I've never seen her look up from the notebook always propped up on her lap against the steering wheel. She does have a wedding ring though, so perhaps this is the only time she can write between work and her family. I wonder why she always writes in her van though. The weather is warm and the picnic tables are all vacant. But to each their own.

Down by the actual beginning of the bike trail there's a playground. And in the sandbox of that playground there are two police officers with bare feet practicing martial arts. Every morning they go and twist their arms and stomp their feet in a ritual that's silent except for the occasional "FWAH! HYAH!" that issues from them to punctuate a particular strike. By the time there's anyone to see them there's already a rough dark rectangle etched into the sand by their sliding feet. I wonder if they remember when they played there so many years ago. And if they see how closely related the two types of play are.

The morning crowd anywhere is my favorite. But especially on the bike-path. From the busy little grey haired woman who walks fast with a little orange book in her hand, to the swaying man with a cart on his bike that has a flag with the word "Deaf" on it. From the police to the man with the pastry, and from the glaring man to myself. Though we'll probably never speak to each other (as is the custom in most daily routines) we all have this one thing in common. We have the hour in the morning by the water when we could all be catching an extra hours sleep. And it's become my new favorite game to try and guess what brings us down there.

But now I'm going to go play with my new helmet. Ain't it shiny?!

See ya'll later!