A moment ago I detected a blur of movement on the patio, a closer look revealing a sight the likes of which had not been met by these well-worn eyes of mine in any previous event. I will be having a delicate eye surgery on Tuesday. If the five-second adventure witnessed by these eyes of mine moments ago is a prophecy of brighter vision yet to come, I am prepared for that, I am.
If in fact, I lose that eye and am left only with the one that is splattered with glaucomic fields of grey, then I shall endeavor always to remember this tiny baby birdlet who ran across my white-tiled patio, bumping into the glass door, quickly recovering to race back on strong, if somewhat spindly legs to its Gamble Quail mom.
I saw it all, I did.
The family of Mom plus Five minus Pop was suddenly minus one quintuplet in response to the roar of the early morning trash hauler as it lifted its load higher than any member of this quail family would probably ever fly. Mom and the Fully Focused Four scrambled toward the oleander mini-forest as Number Five, their tiny, confused sibling, shot in my direction. I scrambled for my camera, unequipped with the sort of skills necessary for such a feat. When I turned back two seconds later, the little 2 inch high, fluffy-feathered goblin was slipping under Mummy’s wing.
If I can still see on Wednesday I shall investigate the Scottsdale Public Library stacks in search of advice for late-blooming photographers.