killerkaleidoscope: close-up centered on a violet daisy on diagonally-cracked gray pavement (Default)
Yesterday I went to the library this afternoon to renew some books for a friend. I did not actually get to renew them because the woman behind the counter took them from me and set them down behind the counter without another word. I didn't have the nerve to ask again, when it was so very clear she did not approve of my request. True, they were weeks overdue, but they were also Calculus textbooks. I did, however, see Guardian of the Dead, Ash, and Huntress all on the shelves in the YA fiction section, and took them home to tear through all three in quick succession.

very vague spoilers for said books )

Recently my stepmom has declared she's not speaking to me anymore (and wasn't that a fun conclusion to a long week) but for now she's still in charge of my finances because Dad's too busy with business to function as intermediary. While I'm still out and about looking at furniture a lot, I'm going to be very careful with how I spend anything, at least until I'm settled up north in Berkeley.

One good thing out of this mess: I really, really like my new apartment. It's clean and fairly sizeable and I have my own room, and between the two of us it is going to be FILLED with books and art. My dear friend doesn't mind if I date anyone, or if I come back at weird hours, and in most ways she's easy to share a space with. The landlord's letting my dear friend keep her bird with her, which is pretty cool--I really do love her bird, and at some point, I'll be able to get a parrot of my own to keep her company. That will be wonderful. I feel like I'm gearing up to begin my actual life. I can't wait.
killerkaleidoscope: close-up centered on a violet daisy on diagonally-cracked gray pavement (Default)
Crows in an area with a steady food supply are a menace. They're intelligent enough birds that they aren't content to sit around and be happy they're well-fed. Instead, a favorite way to spend an afternoon is 'harassing local wildlife'. My dear friend and I watched a handful of crows chase some poor hawk up and down the edges of the barley field behind La Purisima for nearly an hour. That reputation for mischief is well-earned, I tell you that.

I notice they didn't try to fuck around with the large egret/heron (not really sure which) at the furthest field, though. It stood alone in the dirt in the middle of the field, very patient and still, looking quite pretty and out of place, right up until a ground squirrel wandered too close and it skewered the damn thing right through the heart. Daaaamn. My dear friend quietly applauded its skill.

Thus started up another round of the Great Shrike Debate. I pointed out, yet again, that shrikes are devilishly adorable and it's not their fault they've developed incredible hunting and gathering skills for a bird that small and cute. My dear friend retorts that they are also named 'butcher birds' for a reason--she thinks their habit of keeping a 'larder' by impaling still-wriggling prey on thorns, twigs, and barbed wire is creepy. She's not squeamish--her mom keeps snakes, after all--she just thinks that slow death by stake through the heart is needlessly cruel. It's not the shrikes' fault they're too tiny and efficient to know that kind of thing is unmerciful, I tell her, but she's stubborn.

I'm easy to distract: just point out a bird, especially one in flight. I love the way they fly, how they all have a different pattern of wingbeats and gliding. Sometimes I'll read "The Windhover" just to recall the feeling of watching a raptor take flight. Birds are easy to love, easy to talk about.

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killerkaleidoscope: close-up centered on a violet daisy on diagonally-cracked gray pavement (Default)
Karolina Keene

August 2012

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