My best friend, the female dog whisperer, calls my back yard "The Park". I guess you could say she's right. I'm the only one on my block with huge 60 years old trees that stretch high into the sky. Or at least higher than anyone else on my street. When you walk out my back door, it's like walking into Mother Natures playground. Most mornings you can hear the squirrel family chasing each other from limb to limb, Mom sometimes scolding away in her staccato chirp while hiding a peanut she found from who knows where. There's the possum family, who I once caught out early one morning climbing on their Mom's back after a long evening out; the Raccoon clan with their bandit masks who feast on unripe oranges leaving them in sections on the "Park" floor; and the more than occasional skunk, who probably only wants to be left alone but has managed to have more than one run in with Miss Lexie! Add in an orchestra of song birds, humming birds, finches, and the neighbors black cat, and that pretty well rounds out the usual tenants. Every once and awhile though, we have a visitor that will drop by unannounced, stay awhile, and move on. This morning it was "Cooper", the Cooper Hawk.
I don't know what made me look up, maybe it was the louder than usual chirp from the squirrel, but up high in one of the trees, there he was. As if he knew I was headed for my camera, he stayed perched, content not to move, and seemed to almost pose in his stoic, proud way. He didn't stay long, probably headed out to somewhere that held a more promising breakfast, but he definitely added a regal touch to this "Sunday in the Park".