The VisitorA neighborhood tuxedo cat’s walking the fence lineand the dogs are going bonkers in the early morning.The louder they bark, the more their vexation grows,the less the cat seems to care. She’s behind my raisedbeds now, no doubt looking for the family of field miceI’ve been leaving be because why not? The cat’sdressed up for this occasion of trespass, formalattire for the canine taunting, but the whole clamoris making me uneasy. This might be what growingolder is. My problem: I see all the angles of whatcould go wrong so I never know what side to be on.Save the mice, shoo the cat, quiet the dogs? Letthe cat have at it? Let the dogs have at it? Instead,I do what I do best: nothing. I watch the catleap into the drainage ditch, dew-wet fur againstthe daylilies, and disappear. The dogs go quietagain, and the mice are safe in their caves, andI’m here waiting for something to happen to me. Bald Eagles in a FieldShe was almost gone at that point,enough so we could start to make plans.Bright for a February near Fishtown,Skagit Bay another sun on the earthshining upward. On our way for groceries,we saw one eagle in a field, then another.I had never seen two bald eagles togetherlike that, and it felt like a sign, somethingthat would shift things forever, but it wasn’treally, it was just a moment, dad and daughterpulled over in the car, silent and breathingfor a singular instance before all we knewtook flight.