You never know.
One morning you look up from your bowl of cereal, out of the kitchen window, and creation is chasing through your yard.
You glance back down at the recipe in the newspaper, but a scattering of birds outside catches your eye.
She's wild-eyed back, licking up seed to fuel her flight.
Twenty feet behind her, he's sneaking through the asters, eyes focused on her backside.
Round and round. It's her first year, I think. She looks like one of the fawns whose mama brought her to our birdbaths when the watering holes dried up in the drought. She acts like she knows our yard.
And she knows she doesn't want his attention.
He knows he's got to give it to her.