Once again, it's supposed to snow in New York.
Though our winter hasn't been like Boston's, we've had snow on the ground and cold temperatures that belie the facts behind climate change. I heard on the radio that New York's average temperature this February was 24-degrees, 11 degrees colder than normal.
We drove up to the beach anyway.
Whiskey lives for it, and I'll admit, she has me wrapped around her paws and I too live for it. She romped with a pack of other dogs, running up and down an icy expanse and chasing and jumping and playing as god intended. We even hit the beach for a while. And though Whiskey walked to the edge of the icy surf, she stayed on the sandy littoral.
After a couple of hours of canine canoodling, it was time to head back to the city. As I was driving toward the highway entrance I saw a big obstruction in the street. It looked like a stump of wood in the middle of the road.
I slowed to avoid the obstacle, maybe even remove it from the road. But it wasn't a stump. It was a hawk right on the asphalt, finishing off some frozen roadkill. Just eight miles from the northern border of the Bronx.
We looked at it for a while, my wife and I, parked in the middle of the roadway. The big bird was stolid, fierce and impassive. Some other cars slowed to look as well. But then it was time to drive home. You can't spend your day looking at a hawk, parked in the middle of a roadway.
We made it safely home in about half-an-hour.
I hope the hawk made it home safely as well.