The city tore up part of my lawn because of a tractor trailer going where none of his kind had gone before, bending the stop sign and damaging the fire hydrant on my corner of the intersection. Finally, when it got warm enough I spent a Sunday afternoon raking out the rocks and reseeding the dry patch. That next week, my wife and I began a campaign to leave the sprinkler running as much as possible to give the grass a chance.

Tonight at the beginning of twilight I walked out the front door to turn off the water and saw the mallard. He was standing at the edge of road bordering the newly seeded ground, letting the sprinkler shower him with wetness as he looked up. It was as if in that magical light between day and night he thought there was some some sort of waterfowl incantation he could call down to transform the shallow puddle into his personal pond away from the abusive Canada Geese.

Meanwhile his mate was gobbling up my grass seed as it floated in the water.