SOLSC '19 Day Fourteen: Backyard breathing

I am not a cat person. That is to say, I'm allergic to cats, not fond of their hunting habits, and a little grossed out by the thought of them walking through a litter box then across a kitchen counter.

Nevertheless, I am enchanted by my neighbor's cats.  She entrusts them to our care when she is away, so they have associated us with food and a clean litter box, and have claimed our parcel of land as part of their domain.  We often find them on our windowsills, especially the one above our kitchen sink, facing the backyard and the hike-n-bike park beyond.

They were lounging there yesterday, and I decided to join them outside.  It was six in the evening, but really five o'clock, this fourth day past the time change.  The sky was still blue, the tops of the trees lit up by the descending sun, most of the backyard in the shadow of our house.

I took a bowl of ice cream and a book to read.  I finished the ice cream and never opened the book.  I decided instead to run back inside for my phone and camera, to try and capture the light.

I missed the most golden rays, but took pictures anyway.  

I took the time to breathe and enjoy this rare occurrence when the sun is bright, the temperature is pleasant, and the biting bugs are not yet abundantly present.  The air was filled with the chirping of birds; far overhead, a flock with startlingly white breasts and black-tipped wings few in tight circles before moving out of view.  Another gold-breasted flock flew into a neighbor's trees.  The cats, who had jumped down from their perch, chased each other around the yard and used our playscape as their scratching post.  Several people were walking the hike and bike in twos and threes, some with dogs; the cats kept a watchful eye on their foes.  

The butterflies are returning--big and small, orange, yellow, and black.  Some of my milkweed survived the winter, and I noticed buds--and aphids.  I'll be cleaning out the containers next week during Spring Break.

Something bit my ankle, jarring me out of my reverie.  I took one last look at my view, and said goodbye to the cats.

Scooping up my bowl, book, phone and camera, I headed inside, completely content.