I wrote a couple of sentences recently that I now reject.

They appeared near the end of a semi-lyrical essay about wildlife in my yard. Here they are again:

“The chipmunks are a joy. We have more this year, and they are industrious and of course cute.”

The chipmunks are not a joy.

They are not cute.

They are industrious.

And brazen.

Thieves.

Thieves!

In early May, I planted a cherry tomato plant in a container on the back patio. About two weeks ago, it produced its first blossoms and then a couple of tiny green fruits.

Then the future salad garnishments disappeared.

I blamed birds. It was a slander.

This morning, I went to the patio around 7 to sip coffee and enjoy the outdoors – and startled a thief in the tomato plant.

A chipmunk.

The marauder scurried into bushes.

Later, it or a co-conspirator approached my patio chair. It stopped, eyed me for a moment and retreated.

We call our yard Weedy Gulch, because weeds have mastered actual grass. And so it’s on.

The Battle of Weedy Gulch.