A quiet backyard visitor

For 27 years, I have lived in a part of Huntington called Audubon Woods, tucked away just a turn off busy Jericho Turnpike. It has a fitting name for its natural beauty and wide variety of birds and wild creatures.

Over the years, I've been entranced by, and have learned to identify, cardinals, blue jays, chickadees, titmice, juncos, woodpeckers, finches and lots more.

The sounds of these birds are familiar -- from the melodious song of the mockingbird, the catbird's meow-like call, the raucous jays and crows, the mourning cry of the dove, and the eerie hoot of the owl in the depth of the night.

In recent years the birds have been disappointingly fewer in number and variety -- perhaps a harbinger of climate change.

The giant oaks, so numerous in a veritable forest of evergreens and other deciduous trees, provide great sustenance for ever-present squirrels. Less familiar members of the rodent family periodically emerge from their underground abodes. Each time I see a chipmunk swiftly scoot across my deck as if on roller skates, yet with no visible means of locomotion, I'm left in wonderment.

On rare occasions I was privileged to see a red fox, which I at first mistook for a strange breed of dog. But the startling vision through my picture window on a recent springlike day was the rarest of them all.

A deer in all its majesty stared back. This was a stunning first in my backyard, a thrill that lingers still. This elegant animal seemingly came out of nowhere. How far had it wandered from its natural domain? And why? Is continuous human encroachment on our natural environment pushing its living things out of their familiar habitats toward eventual banishment from our Island?

I am thankful for this visitor and hope it will stop by again.

Reader Miriam Goodman's favorite season is spring, but she loves fall colors, too.