The woodpeckers here seem quite content to beat their heads against palm trees, which I am not certain should qualify as trees, not a ring to be seen if you cut one down, but they tend to fall before you get to that point.
The most common woodpecker is the red bellied, which itself is odd since his head is bright red his belly with a pinkish tinge, but that is so Florida I suppose naming things for what you want but not at all what they seem to be.
I could go on but the ibis are upset that an armadillo is wander across the yard interrupting their lunch.
What I want to tell her is this: it’s fitting, perfectly, that you who so assiduously hid the past from me, your past and mine, now bars your entry, refusing you even the briefest glimpse. You want so to grab onto it to have it carry you to a place removed from here by time and distance, where it is warm and most of the time, cozy. It is also fitting that you call out his name, as though he was in the yard pruning a tree, delaying dinner, the same he you cursed glad to have him out of your life and out of your house, you wished him dead so that you might call yourself a widow and share condolences with the other black draped women. You never mentioned the six months of foster care or the little sister who came and went so quickly when he had the audacity to drop dead on you one morning. This is what I would say to her, this is the curse I would place upon her but she no longer recognizes me, I am no more than a well dressed orderly come to remove her lunch tray.