The sound was similar to what I heard years ago stationed with an armored division in Europe. A creaking of metal tracks that power a big machine is an eerie sound anytime, but especially at night if one happens to be sleeping on the ground. I wasn't sleeping on the ground when I heard it. I was in the living room of our Rockport home. The sound was coming from our little one block sanctuary in front of the house, protecting us from the sounds of highway 35. I knew it was a bulldozer. Now there are little "roads" running about in the place where deer had made their homes for many years. It is the place where cardinals came when they tanked up at our feeders. Those woods were where our hummingbirds wintered and then brought their young over for sugar water.
It is called progress. That's what some call it. I have a different name. What will go in that destroyed refuge is anybody's guess. It is valuable property so had to start making some money for the bank that owned it. One less block of sanctuary. One more block of paving and parking and "progress". In a few years few will remember the way it was. If I am living I will remember.
Thankfully, the city bought an expensive piece of land between the old Wal Mart and the new one. If developed properly it will be a lasting haven for birds and people. Please don't blacktop it all, or tear out every little bush and tree! Please!
I now have a home where no buffalo roam.
Where no deer and antelope play.
Where seldom is heard
The calls of a bird,
Only sounds of the traffic all day.
Home, home on the coast
Where now only fishermen play.
But you must have a boat
For your lure or a float
The shorelines are private they say.
