Emma and I were walking back down the ditch on the return leg of our walk this afternoon when on the far bank I saw an older Latino guy in a white straw cowboy hat, jeans and a Western shirt coming the other way. That type isn’t superabundant here in the central RGV, but up in northern New Mexico everybody’s grand-dad looks like that. Behind him tottered a four-year-old boy in red shirt and blue shorts – and also a black cape, a Batman mask, and, somewhat inexplicably, carrying a plastic sword.
I did a double-take. It ws so incongruous at first I thought the kid was wearing a black devil mask. Then the older guy said, “I found this caped crusader wandering behind me along the ditch.”
That was so splendid I had to laugh with delight. I’m afraid the lad misinterpreted that as showing disrespect, for he held high his sword and declared, with fierce conviction, “I’m Batman!”
Yes. Yes, you are. Emma stared at him as if he were Ziggy Stardust complete with the Spiders from Mars. I had to hustle her along lest the caped crusader wreak dreadful retribution on us.
A little farther on I tawt I taw a Harrier flying over the ditch. Not this:
But this:
Not pictured: Gamera
Nature actually put in an appearance early in our walk in the form of a dead mourning dove lying by the path along the southern fence of the Río Grande Nature Center. Fortunately Emma evinced no interest in it. I couldn’t tell what killed it; as common as fat, complacent doves have become around here the last few years I’m amazed the skies above aren’t black with fat, complacent hawks at the all-you-can-eat dove bar. Or maybe the ground thick with fat, complacent hawks dining like azhdarchids, those scary ground-feeding giant pterosaurs who’re so much in the news lately.
Emma frequently took to the water. I was surprised at an early stop to see her disappear to her neck, which she apparently accomplished by the simple expedient of sitting down. She’s getting braver about immersion. Maybe someday she’ll actually dare to swim.
At one point we encountered a strong but very pleasant smell like garlic, or maybe onions. Perhaps somebody’s growing some of those in the area. Or maybe there was just a horrid chemical spill nearby that will presently turn my lungs to bubbling yellow goo. I guess we’ll have to see what comes out my nose later.
Also, just before we encountered the caped crusader and his grandpa, I saw a couple of big swallows wheeling maybe 30-40 feet over the ditch. They were so big I should probably even call them “gulps.”
By the way – there’s actually a Pterosaur Database online. How excellent is that?
All in all, an eventual outing. As the late, great Roberts Shea and Anton Wilson wrote in their wonderful Illuminatus! Trilogy
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