During the summer rains some of the local birds fly for shelter under by back porch roof which has one wide overhang with a lot of things suspended from it. Lots of things are suspended from the ceiling too wren house, hanging baskets, wind chimes and sometimes a charm string.

During the last gentle rain I thought I'd go out and sit in the porch swing to enjoy the comforting sound of it on the roof, the nearby metal awning and the wide hollyhock leaves at the foot of the steps. Before I opened the glass storm door, I saw a goldfinch sitting on top the dry wren house, two house finches clinging to a chain of the swing and a bright cardinal sitting in the swing itself.

I'm thinking of making a little rain roost for my feathered friends. An old TV antenna bar suspended at each end from the ceiling? One more thing won't hurt.

The martins, smart birds, sit silently under the eaves of their own house porch.

Knowing the birds would fly away the minute I opened the door, I contented myself with watching and listening from inside. The finches kept up a merry chatter as if they were as happy to hear the rain as I.

I would have felt so like St. Francis of Assisi if I could have gone out and the birds would have stayed. Next time I sense a rain coming I'm going to go out and wait. Maybe if I sit motionless they'll come. I might even spread a little seed on the banister railing. Might one alight on my head or shoulder? I have a picture of a friend with a mockingbird eating seeds from his hand.

The brown thrasher and cat bird would have to come from the hedgerow where they are living this summer since I've had the sweet autumn olive hedge drastically pruned.

The hedgerow grows more dense, almost impenetrable. Some of the acorns and ash tree seeds that lodged there years ago have grown to trees twenty to thirty feet high. Lodged leaves, over the years, have formed a rich humus. The wild grape vine and honeysuckle are world class specimens. Poison ivy too.

I hear rustlings as I pass by. Sometimes I stop and peer into the denseness to see if I can identify the perpetrator. Most times it is a bird, rabbit or squirrel. Could be a snake, I tell myself when I can't find the source and walk on sprightly.

Seeing all the trees that have sprung up voluntarily in the hedgerow starts me thinking of the worldwide concern about deforestation and what has been going on down in Rio De Janeiro. I kick petulantly at the dried leaves at the edge of the hedgerow when I contemplate that I'm now confronted with a whole new set of current words and phrases I'll have to concern myself with, find out their meaning, determine if there is anything I can do about it if I want to go on being a caring and informed citizen.

A dove flies off a nest in a shrub as I pass by, revealing two little fledglings. "Do you know that we're sitting on a time bomb as dangerous as the nuclear holocaust that terrorized us in the second half of the century?" I ask them. They bat their bright new eyes, not necessarily alarmingly. "That's what a Jamsheed Marker said," I elucidate. The doves close their eyes again and seem to doze off as if to say, "Not in our time."

I spot a rabbit standing still about 10 feet ahead of me. "Do you know there is a document called Climate Change Agreement calling for the protection of planet biodiversity and a $600 billion a year multi-faceted project called Agenda 21 aimed at protecting the environment on many levels and promoting sustainable development into the next century?" I ask Cottontail.

The rabbit cocks his head to one side and bends an ear as if asking me to repeat some words. "Sustainable development," I repeat, thinking those are the words that caught in Rabbit's ears. "That means can we keep it up? If countries from all over the world promise things to help the world environment, can they or will they keep it up?

"Starting next year that means $420,000,000,000.00 until the new upcoming century. Count 'em, Cottontail, Flopsy or Mopsy, whichever one you are. That's eleven zeros after $420 and they say the U.S., being the Big Leader that it is, will have to foot most of the bill or they'll just go on cutting down their forests which control world climate and blowing their chlorofluorocarbons indiscriminately as we've been doing but are trying to control now that we've caught on to what it does. Sort of blackmail, isn't it? By-the-way, Cottontail, chlorofluorocarbons help make holes in the ozone. The bigger the holes the more melanomas."

Rabbit turns tail and ducks into the hedgerow. After kicking a few more dead leaves and twigs I make myself a little spot under the grapevine canopy and sit down. Peering through the honeysuckle and ash tree seedlings I see Rabbit. I think he grinned and winked at me. I believe he or she understands in a rabbit-like way sustainable development.

I don't sit long though. A police car is cruising through the park. Suppose the driver, seeing me sitting there, a scraggly-looking vagrant, and comes over to ask what I am doing?

If my honest answer would be, "Sir, I'm thinking about the irresponsible release of chlorofluorocarbons and whether nearly $500 billion before the turn of the century can sustain planet biodiversity. Did you leave your car's motor running?" do you think I'd get to sit there much longer?

Anyway, I see clouds approaching and hurry home to see if I can beat any birds to the shelter of the porch roof where I'll sit motionless and put my mind on the suspended antenna roost instead of going to the dictionary to see where the accent marks are in the many-syllabled chlorofluorocarbons.

REJOICE!