Monday, April 27, 2015

Good, Bad, or Ugly: Everything's a Competition for the Most

“How are you?”

“Tired … “

“Oh, you have no idea what tired is. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. My knee has been predicting snow off on and on while the dog has been barking at three in the morning at who knows what. The cat snores like a sailor and the neighbors can’t go in and out of their house without slamming the front door. My boss is a bear. I had to work a double shift so I’ve been up since nine yesterday morning … Why don’t you ever talk to me?”

Sunday, April 26, 2015

There's a Boom Deep in My Heart That Has Nothing to Do with You

~ click image to make biggerer ~

We drank a rich, deep, moon wine under the dark sky. Our moods matched the hint of smoked oak in the spirit and the violent wind buffeting the glass enclosing the porch where we sat.  

“Thunder makes me feel alive.” I wasn’t really talking to her. I would have said the same thing and said it out loud even if I were alone.

“I hate thunder,” she said, breaking the spell I was under. “It scares me.”

And that’s the difference between us and why we never really connected.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

No Such Thing as an Early Morning Riser or a Late Night Party Pooper

Pale pink petals litter the driveway, nature’s party confetti turning brown at the edges. The squirrels sit in the crooks of tree limbs, quiet and resting in the afternoon sun. Mother Nature wakes from her Winter nap, up but not yet fully alert.

Comparing the seasonal clock to the daily clock, we’re talking about eight thirty ante meridiem. I guess She doesn’t drink coffee or maybe she ran out because She’s a little sluggish this year.

By now, the dogwood would be in full cherry blossom style and the robins would be fat and happy. Instead, the dandelions are curling their faces away from frost and I’m wearing holes in my sweaters.

Friday, April 24, 2015

Meow and Tweet are Words of Love in Different Languages

There's a cat that lives on our block. His name is Fred. He's black with white spots or white with black patches. I guess it depends on your point of view. Fred doesn't care much one way or the other.

Like most toms, all he cares about are the birds. There’s one that he's been after for awhile. He's been chasing her for months and can't get his paws on her.

She dances just out of reach. When he pounces, she takes flight.

I think they are both quite happy with their situations.

She has a perpetual admirer; he has a goal for which to strive.