D.O.P.-T.

The yard is prepared as well as I can manage for the replacement of the chainlink fence. All the geranium pots are moved out and there are many, many cuttings in water in the back porch room. A single solitary branch end with a red flower remains poked through the chicken-wire that surmounts the chainlink at the back of the yard; too high for me to reach. The washing line is untied and extracted from the depths of the tree.

On the way back from walkies, we were first deafened by a military jet; it's fleet week in San Francisco and the air show started today; then re-deafened by a huge assemblage of crows, wheeling in great clouds, perching on the utility wires, and calling all the while. A solitary hawk went over when I was extracting the second to last geranium plant; it surely wasn't about that. It looked more as if the flock from a few days ago had invited the rest of the tribe and they were getting to know the neighborhood. We'll soon know.