That End

On a Sunday March 28. I saw a bald eagle come in over the inner harbor. The gulls below sent out wild chatter. The eagle circled clockwise. I also saw what I believe was a kingfisher! And a loon, both on the same pedestal of pilings, from the same spot. From there also I heard a man on a bench clear across the harbor whistling--most melodiously.

Witnessing seals, in sunshiny, sunglittering early morning water, undulunging forward: off Dallas Road, off the Johnson St. bridge! And off the West Bay boardwalk. I've seen raccoons on the wharves, and was startled into a happy yell by sighting a skunk one night on Wollaston Street.

On a Saturday morning in spring, on the little beach south of the Ross Bay seawall, I was selected for privilege to witness two crows copulating. A clicking noise, a look over my shoulder--the display was about 10 metres away, perhaps 15: the male ruffed up, and in the heat of the act squawking at her "angrily," she appeared calm in her quiet crouch, receiving. He seemed to beak-scissor her head-back or neck also. When he hopped off, she picked up a little piece of black plastic in her beak and hopped to a nearby log, put down the plastic and came over, sleek, unruffled, "to examine me" or to present her magical presence, and he stayed on the second log, still ruffled, and appearing to me groggy.

A little later, as I resumed reading about Augie March and his eagle, my four crows wheeled over, two and two, one pair to a housetop, the other to the low-tide glisten. And a little later another crow hopped and explored over toward me from the front, and I noticed that one of its claws was curled up inward and it got around OK lightly on the curve-stump, limping in its wag-walk. As I strolled barefoot up the ramp to go to the car, I saw my four working the wrack.