Julia awoke to a golden morning, the kind of day when the sun beamed through the open east window making everything in the room sparkle, especially the rose zircon earrings waiting on her bureau.
Outside she heard the cacophony of the half-tail squirrel who lived in the live oak at the side of the driveway. This morning he was loudly arguing with a raucous murder of crows. Murder, might be the usual descriptive word for a flock like this, but actually these were a band of pirates. The squirrel was an easy mark for them. He had a penchant for contraband and the band of crows frequently pillaged his treasures.
The other day, I watched one neighboring squirrel raid the nest of the homesteader in our front yard tree. A few days later, the homesteader buried another cache of nuts on our boulevard. As soon as he left, the neighbor came over, searched, pillaged and re-buried our homesteader's bounty. No wonder the homesteader can't find his stockpile!