a rather unjustified maligning of sorex trowbridgii because when it comes down to it, a shrew is still a person no matter how small
On Sunday we went for a walk in Seward Park to find Oliver Fern a Bald eagle. Those stately, giant Douglas firs which dominate Bailey Peninsula, soaring to the heights and offering the majestic raptors surround-views of the water they favor so much, are reliable places to look. Never mind Bald eagles are like fruit flies these days, Oliver got his first real binoculars for his birthday and wanted to try them out on something bigger than a chickadee. At first we stuck mostly to walking in the woods to avoid people, and to hunt the lower canopies for other aviary species. Oliver’s heel was still recovering from a long walk in the Teanaway on Friday, where he developed a terrible blister from sloppy, seemingly perennial untied shoes (it looks like there’s a pepperoni stuck to the back of his poor foot). He was more cheerful to be on this stroll than you might imagine because he was going for a spin in the pair of leather hiking boots which had been dug out from the basement, hardly-used hand-me downs from his older brother. The boys’ feet grow ridiculously fast but we can’t just stick them in junky kids shoes, Oliver turned eight but wears a larger adult size. Adam is twelve years old but on the verge of wearing an adult size fourteen. We’ve got to stop giving them vitamins or ice cream, I haven’t decided which.
For a beautiful Sunday afternoon in one of Seattle’s beloved parks it was surprisingly quiet although periodically a jogger such as the gorgeous hardman archetype you’ll find in Seattle, Boulder (or Berkeley) sporting cloying manbun, short shorts revealing tanned, tightly sculpted hamstrings tying into flexible gluteals and furthermore quite inexplicably, parsimoniously clad in Roman sandals, huffing-puffing too close past us on the wide-enough path, sans mask. Hark Great Horned Owl, why just this once won’t you come swooping down to attack the manbun, shredding it to a topknot like a Trowbridge shrew, taking the longest strands back to your tree cavity for a cozier owl house? No Baldies or Great Horned owls when you need them, the boys accused me of scaring all the good birds away with my stupidly-squeaky podiatrically correct shoes, every step sounds like a Mallard duck in heat. It was a lovely stroll, though. I’m sorry if I make myself sound like a misanthropic asshole every time I complain about other people jogging through the park or neighborhood without the simplest contingency mask or face covering. God-almighty, is it really too much to ask for everyone to strap something around their neck, at least…… for the just-in-case? It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
At any rate, I love Seward Park the park (the namesake neighborhood is nice, too) which is like Green Lake except more, different stripes and comers. The crowd at Green Lake has gotten more racially diverse the past twenty years in my unscientific opinion but Green Lake the largely single family neighborhood of the same name seems lily white as ever. Seward Park is comparatively shoutingier distance from more socioeconomically and racially diverse neighborhoods. It shows in the kippahs, hijabs, obnoxious four-wheel drive strollers, and boomboxes blended seamlessly on a Sunday night.
postscript: This particular frame is from Seward Park. But it was February, I crawled about all fours like a wet dog and held my breath to avoid disturbing this masterpiece.