Someone lives in this house, I don't know who. Someone has chewed on the hole that used to admit only wrens, I don't know how. Someone is making squeaking noises in this house, I don't know why. I know, however, that Someone inside is living a life I can never inhabit. I know that whomever it is scares my dog when she goes too close (oh, the power of the unknown!) I know that I don't go too close, either, because it might be mice--or chipmunks--that could stream out and run up my leg. Yikes! I keep my distance. I let the woodland plants surround the property and the grapevines deliver a tasty snack. I watch the shadows fall, the sun glance in, the breeze twist leaves into lazy ticklers. Someone lives in this house. Someone who finds my garden a welcoming place. I forgive the chewing. Almost.