Music, no thunder

A check of Padimus (thought we heard thunder - she so hates it) resulted in a quick walk toward, but not to the park.

Birds were singing their evening songs. These were strange notes we had not heard before and we paused to see if we could spot the singers.

The trio of hounds at the end of the block began their chorus as we came abreast of the yard. The two base barkers and their tenor friend were joined by Padimus' fretful soprano.

The 8:30 train whistle blew and neighborhood dogs all around answered back.

It was not quite dark when we arrived home, but our tree-cover creates a yard where it is already night long before the sun sets.

The cicadas calling from tree to tree and crickets' songs merged.

It was a dusky opera performed for us alone.