In the jungle

This evening I was bustling about with evening routines, Nat freshly bathed, pajamas on, when I heard the peacock.
"Ahhh ahhh ahhhh." It shrieked.
It sounded so close. I looked out the window in the kitchen. Nothing. I looked out the laundry room window. Nothing. Then I saw the neighbors in the yard with cameras poised, staring up.
The peacock was on my roof, perched delicately on the very peak, peering at us and crying its strange sound, looking exotic and out of place.
It is now sitting in the uppermost branch of a pine tree in the backyard, its long magnificent tail trailing down, calling continuously.
To quote my neighbor, "I like this shit."

On another note, there is a purple Iris blooming beside the house. It looked like a Van Gogh picture, growing beside the green siding.

And on another nother note, it has been awhile since I've posted.
I bought curtains and a big queen bed.
I'm addicted to The Wire, Dominic West in particular.
I owned a dog for four days.
Since spring arrived it has not stopped raining. It is raining as I type.
I've missed blogging.