The Man And The Crow

He preferred to amble like he was a roaming laggard with purpose. He inherited the phrase from a friend long dead, with whom he shared an affinity for Bukowski. On that day, onlookers would have described him as oblivious, or perhaps careless. Unlike other cotidian days, he had no interest in the mundane goings-on around him. His singular focus rested on the slightest possibility that the crow would seek him out once again. Nestled inside a blue tissue in his pocket was a gold button he’d bought at a bohemian flea market. Next to it was a prepared packet of nuts and dried bits of fruit. 

Despite the sidewalk’s occasional deficiencies, the man mostly kept his head tilted up. He’d learned that accident and providence were equally inscrutable and unforeseeable. He listened for distant echoes that might betray the approach of the crovid he sought. 

The man had all but surrendered hope when a distant call reached his ears. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, unconcerned whether another pedestrian considered him an obstacle. He waited. Not restlessly or annoyingly, like most modern people. He was immobile and unflinching, breathing deeply and evaluating the approaching sound as if his ears were governed by Doppler. 

The crow swooped low, as if it intended to touch the ground. Turning gracefully, it landed and perched atop a wooden fence in need of repair. It pecked at the gray wood beneath it, raised its head, and looked at the man. 

At that moment, a bicyclist approached. “To your left,” he shouted, as if the danger of hitting someone was greater than the risk of seeing the ridiculously tight shorts he wore. 

“You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk.” The bicyclist turned his head as he sped past. 

“I am not merely standing. I am experiencing.” The man didn’t turn his head as he addressed the cyclist. 

Like most denizens of the area, the cyclist had no idea what the man meant. His vocabulary was stuffed and stocked with practical words, absent metaphors. He shook his head and pedaled faster.  

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out both tissue and packet. Unfolding the tissue, he retrieved the button from its confines and walked across the grass to the fence. He knew better than to seek conversation with the crow directly. Reaching up, he carefully placed the gold button on the rectangular top of one of the posts that allegedly held up the fence. After unrolling it, he upended the packet and poured the nuts and fruit onto the wood next to the button. 

Walking backward without looking behind him, the man stopped when his feet found the sidewalk again. He nodded toward the bird. 

The bird hunched almost imperceptibly, flew effortlessly across, and landed on the boards nearest the post.

“Kraa! Kraa!”

The man smiled as the crow raspily acknowledged the gifts. Its gravelly call was the equivalent of italics and enthusiasm. Pecking studiously, the bird efficiently consumed several nuts and bits of fruit. It turned and stretched its wings like a phoenix. 

“Kraa!” 

The bird pirouetted and used its beak to clasp the button. Hunching again, it flew down toward the ground in the man’s direction, then shot upward above him. 

The man smiled, recognizing that the bird had chosen to dive as an acknowledgment. The gold button prohibited its call. 

Within seconds, the crow disappeared over the crest of the trees, almost as if the sunlight caressing it had rendered it invisible. 

For all who patiently wait for sublime, subdued moments, there is recompense. Perhaps not in the flashy way we are ingrained to seek. The man had learned to notice things, even when unwarranted. 

Before the man turned to traipse away, two argumentative starlings landed like teenagers trying a skateboard trick they had seen but never attempted. In seconds, they devoured the remaining bits. Because the sun graced the skies, the man observed the starlings’ spring iridescence. He wondered how much ultraviolet the birds could actually see. 

They flew off as if governed by misprogrammed GPS. Though they lacked the grace of his most recent friend, the crow, their inelegance had its own beauty. 

Sunlight and success propelled the man back home, as if his feet were supported by a layer of air. His mental to-do list grew by one when he realized he might need more buttons, along with fresh coffee. It was anyone’s guess which would bring more happiness.

Dumb

Because my neighbor Monica’s car was kaput, I had to take her and her young daughter Susan to the ER. Susan ate half a roll of quarters. She was more nervous than in pain. The ER doctor told Monica to monitor Susan. 

No change yet.

Sunday Slaps

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, even though no one had notified everyone that it wasn’t Saturday night anymore. It was about 60° at 2:00 a.m. Perfect walking weather. Sounds carry through the air almost infinitely. 

Because it was so early on a Sunday morning, I knew the crazies would be out. I barely cleared the trail crossing on Poplar before hearing the glorious early morning serenade of multiple women screaming and slapping each other. I’ll put a video as a comment. I took it from about a quarter of a mile away. The slapping sounds like fireworks. I turned on Chestnut because I misjudged the origin.

I wound my way through the Chestnut II apartments as the screaming intensified. 

“I’m not drunk, Dad. That b**** is gonna get smashed.” Multiple young women were walking in circles and either talking on their phones or screaming. I walked right through them like I was on a safari. The nexus of the tumult was a few feet away at a corner apartment, where other women were in various stages of demonstrating humankind’s lack of advancement. I felt sorry for the dad who had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. by his daughter clearly demonstrating that she was in fact drunk.

As fierce as the screaming was, I knew it was all bluster. Before I made it back to the side street, I saw one of Fayetteville’s finest rolling into the area. I wish I could have stuck around to hear the police say “STFU and go to bed” multiple times. But there’s always one alcohol-fueled person who insists on getting bracelets to mark the occasion. Another police car soon followed. I’m guessing they were bored and wanted to watch a live-action version of Jerry Springer. 

There were enough angry women to fill the Razorback’s defensive line. I’m betting there was a man named Chad or Marquise somehow at the center of it all.  My half of the species is invariably at the crux of this kind of late night / early morning anger. 

The picture is one I took in near darkness. I stood on Miller Street, watching the driver try to figure out how to make a turn. There’s no question that whoever was in the car was using Jack Daniels as their GPS. 

A picture I took in almost total darkness, looking south toward the hill on Woolsey. It’s a very popular deer path at that hour of the morning.

When I came into the apartment, I forgot that I had totally sweet talked a cat into letting me pet it. When I got down on the ground it walked all over me and rubbed on my head. Güino knows. 🙂

Duh!

I passed through my old favorite go-to spot near Gordon Long park. I laughed, looking at the oil stain in front of the steep incline going across the water dam on Scull creek.

For those who didn’t see the picture, someone drove a U-Haul van from Drake Street across the serpentine new trail that connects to The Greenway by the park. They got stuck and teeter-tottered on the concrete drop off as they tried to use the trail as a highway. 

I hollered, “Watch out for U-Hauls” to a few people. 

If it can happen once, it can happen again. 

PS Scull Creek was named after a family rather than a skull. I tell everyone a completely different origin story if it comes up. It’s our job to make local history as argumentative as possible.

Of Golden

A special someone of kindred spirit surprised me with a book in the mail. She took the time to conceal it inside bright paper, obviously appropriating one of my favorite ways to conceal a gift.

I don’t check my mail very often. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, in case you were wondering. I walked over to throw something in the communal trash. Without realizing I was doing it, I meandered over and opened my mailbox and realized that I had a surprise.

Because I am always laden with both markers and scalpel, I opened it under the clearest October sky you can imagine.

Because she is an ardent bibliophile, I knew the book would have special personal meaning just for me.

It was her inscription written inside the cover that wounded me joyfully. I reread it and suddenly seemed to have dust in my eyes, unseen particles that made them teary.

I would never be so gauche as to mention Marjay by name, or to publicly thank her for the kindness. She not only gave me a surprise, but also a little universe inside a book that she thinks I already live inside, wrapped a little like I might.

I’m certain I will love the imaginary world in this book. I’ll read it with my recently restored eyes. And probably finish it with a rejuvenated heart.

Fanta

A beautiful early morning for a walk. It was strange to be chilly.  

Oddly, I heard five different Shouters this morning. Those are the people whose neighbors want to go outside and clobber them into silence. They have nothing to say but they say it with volume and incoherence. It seldom works out if you try to say anything to them. They are either belligerent, under the influence, or Republicans. (Sorry, it was too easy of a joke to pass up.) The best revenge is to get a 12 volt battery and a motorcycle horn or used car horn and put it near their front door, drop the wire on the other terminal, and walk off. “STFU” works well as a parting note to leave attached. I’m just passing that along if you’re short on ideas. 

The fella in the picture waited for me just after the art building by the trail nexus. He made me go through the ritual of talking to him in a ridiculous tone of voice before he started doing gymnastics and let me run my fingers through his fur. I named him Fanta.

Moment

I took this picture after the one I posted last night of the beautiful bottle lights competing with the sunset for color dominance. 

I watched her sit on the tailgate of my neighbor Mark’s truck, taking pictures and trying to capture the same brilliance I was seeing.  I don’t know her at all, but she’s a young mother. You can’t see her kid sitting beside her playing because the truck bed obscures it. It’s a memory for her, and a cotidian moment that can’t be expressed adequately with words. 

She’s gonna be fine as long as she keeps trying to capture what she sees.