Some quiet Hill Country days, when the ear floats a tide of rustling leaves , a rising-falling oo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooooo-ooo echoes through our patch.
We look at each other and smile. 'Our' roadrunner bugling his fiefdom. He patrols our neighborhood's wild areas and yards, dining on snakes and lizards, scorpions and spiders.
The small birds fly when he comes for a drink. They know he'll eat whatever he can catch. Running the hills requires gas in the tank and his tank will take almost any kind.
This unlikely ground-dwelling cuckoo belongs in these arid hills. He was here before people. With luck, he'll survive the advance of pick-up trucks and manicured lawns; his calls a reminder of the space of the wild in our lives.
Copyright 2009-2010 Kathleen Scott, for Hill Country Mysteries. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.