It happened in broad daylight on Good Friday afternoon. Two, maybe four hundred feet above First Street East in Sonoma.
A drone.
Yep. Hovering. Reconnoitering the Plaza?? Sure looked like it. Small. White. Silent. Ominous. Sun twinkled off its whirling propellers. It lingered, rocking to-and-fro, as if scanning the people below. It then darted swiftly over the corner by the Mission. A brief pause, then it lurched west, stopping mid-air high over General Vallejo sitting on his bench. It again tilted one way, then another, then . . . Zip! Up-Up-and-Away! . . . out of sight…