I’ve been visiting my family in the beautiful state of New Mexico, and marveling at the different wildlife that flocks around. Hummingbirds chase each other from the feeders, a kestrel dives and soars. Buzzards circle in the hot azure skies. Lizards turn suspicious eyes up at me wherever I walk, darting for cover. Butterflies flutter by the dozens, and dragonflies zip past on a mission. Tarantulas and scorpions and vinegarones wander the night. It’s an active and vital place.
But perhaps my favorite, a plucky roadrunner. Tap, tap… I open the blinds to discover who is making the noise. There he is, perched upon the bird feeder and challenging his own reflection in the wide picture-window. What a beauty he is, with his sharp-curved beak and a vibrant sweep of red, white, and blue behind his eyes. He plucks up a dying beetle and, as he speeds away, I see the iridescent green sheen of his long feathers. “Come again,” I call as he recedes into the distance.