Mr. and Mrs. Quail sat on my back fence with their baby, puffing up now and then to keep warm, all the while scoping out the yard. This was yesterday, and as far as I could tell, they were quite unaware of the uproar in the larger world.
Their world was my yard, their thoughts focused on what they might eat. Eat to live, you know.
After a good long rest on the fence, they dropped down--baby first--to fill up on whatever lay around the base of my two trees. First the dawn redwood, then the ash. And then they were gone.
I stood at my kitchen window and watched until they left. I wished they would stay, of course.
That was about ten minutes. Ten minutes when I didn't have to give a thought to Libya or Syria or the killing of Osama bin Laden or what it all means.
The quail didn't know it, but they were a respite from a harsher reality and I felt they were every bit relevant to my life.
Ten minutes isn't very long, though.
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