A Grassy Nest

 The other day while walking towards the grocery, I couldn't help but notice the clumps of pampas grasses, all shorn to about six-to-eight inches height. They'll grow back, of course, but it seems that every year, everywhere, they are allowed to flourish, their grassy plumes back-lit by sunny days, then Poof! they are cut down, like a new Marine recruit's blond locks, reduced to a regimented burr.

As I looked at the mowed patches, I noticed matted swirls, and wondered what critter had made the grass its bed for the night. Was it a fox? A coyote, perhaps, that turned around three times then settled down, curled into a tight wad with its tail covering its nose? We tend not to think of wildlife in a place so urban as this overgrown strip mall, but the stretch of concrete and asphalt definitely has another life when the humans have mostly departed for their own burrows: One morning years ago, I was walking along the arcade when I noticed a scattered pile of flesh and feathers, where an owl had taken and eaten its prey. And here, in the bottom picture, is a question mark, showing me that something had been there, but not told me what. Another aspect of life that goes on out of our sight.