Sharp end of the warbler vanguard, Yellow-rumped Warblers, are here and singing loudly.
This is the Audubon's race, with its yellow throat. It's an easy warbler to spot, more so than the inscrutably-named Orange-crowned Warblers that have also arrived but are furtive, trilling in the bushes.
While fiddling with the manual focus (for autofocus setting aimed at the 3-D chaos of tree branches causes telephoto conniptions), angry buzzing calls erupted from behind. Two Bewick's Wrens were fighting. One ended up with a clump of the other in its bill. Bewick's Wrens are always angry about something. Try pishing them; they fly into a rage at the drop of a hat.
A male Wood Duck, the first I have seen at the park, was trying to graze at the edge of the pond, but every few minutes lost his nerve, dropped into the water and swam away. Sorry duck, this is a peopled pond. You'll have to get used to that if you plan to stick around.
I had to leave. My bike is time-aware, has the annoying habit of turning back toward work. I want a bicycle like the one Paul Newman road in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a strictly fun-loving bike.