“The house you paid for and waited for is gone. You had it for a day. Why are you smiling?”
William laughed and looked at Robert.
“Are you kidding? I spent a day on the porch and went to sleep in a room exactly like the one I slept in when my Grandpa was alive.”
“You’re strange, ” Robert said. “But I understand.”
William flipped the retrieved nail in his fingers.
They stood in the carbon and ashes of what was the front porch. Even the creosote soaked railroad ties that served as steps were reduced to ashes. Behind them long strips of galvanized steel lay twisted and burned on the ground. Concrete pylons poked out from the burned remnants.
Both of them looked out across the cotton field and watched the dragonflies against the sunset.
“Sometimes a day is a lifetime,” William whispered into the baked air of the Delta.
Because of the unique view my apartment grants me, I’ve noticed there are certain moments before sunrise when there are fleeting moments of beauty. This mimosa stands guard across the street, adjacent to the railroad tracks. Because of the beautiful trail enhancements and the modern lighting that adorns it, there are a handful of minutes when the mimosa seems to be backlit. The brooding clouds seen to enhance it. I took this picture twenty-two minutes before sunrise.
Some people dislike silk trees because of the perceived mess and the gnarled roots that provide unexpected trips. But if you are a fan of hummingbirds, butterflies, and bees, these are among the best places to stand and watch when the sun is attempting to toast your head.
If I could pick a time of day to render as static and unchanged, it might be the time shortly before sunrise. When the subdued colors are HDR and the world waits to be awakened. If you stand still, each minute changes both in hue and feel.
The second picture is looking down Leverett where it reaches its end against the agri park. To the left is Narnia, fourteen acres of dense, wild growth that holds thousands of birds and small animals. Even though it’s difficult to see, at the bottom of the first towering electrical pole is a public notice that this property will soon be erased to become a dense housing complex. Everything about this little private area will change forever when that happens.
It doesn’t resemble much seen up close. But under the darker sombrous canopy of trees above the creek, shimmering with sunlight shadows, it looked alien and transplanted. I wish I had brought my markers and chalk to further adorn it and give it a bit of life through color.
Traversing the creek, the water granted me a sudden reminder that light refraction hides unexpected depths and drop offs. More so in clear water. I did not bite my tongue as I stepped a foot deeper than I anticipated.
From there I found a delightful sand and sediment bar. Once stepped on, I sank a foot and a half. I’m glad it ended there because getting out of those things is more of a goal than a certainty.
If you know where to look, there’s a hidden field along Green Acres Road. And if you’re out early enough walking in the magical hour before dawn, you can stop and watch the bats frolic. If you stand next to the beautiful decaying tree and look up, the bats will perform for you. Although the approaching morning sun diminishes their visibility, you can look up and see the moon and Venus twinkling. I don’t go watch the bats often enough.
If you’re interested in the wisdom of experience, I’ve got some words for you. I did the peculiar thing that I sometimes do and asked an older man to hit me with some important things he had learned.
“Who we are is who we are going to be,” the older man said, his face rigid with the wrinkles of certainty and experience.
“These lips are mine and are the same lips I used to excuse how I wasted my youth. Putting off things I should have done. Listening to what people say instead of watching what they do. ‘I’m gonna’ is for sure one of the dumbest things we say to convince ourselves that talking about it is the same as doing it. And when we hear other people say it, most of the time we know they’re not gonna. Stop drinking. Stop smoking. Not waste money. Get out and enjoy life where they can. How do I know? Because if they wanted to, they would be doing it now instead of talking about what they’re going to do. If we ain’t doing it today, we ain’t gonna. You gotta work with what you have and stop waiting for the perfect day. You might not get another sunrise. Nobody never got anything done by waiting for it. Don’t waste your time arguing with people or the world. Likely you can’t change them. Wanting things to be another way is like trying to get full by smelling what’s cooking on the stove. The fewer things you want or think you need will get you pretty far.”
“Anything else?” I wanted to give him the chance to add if he wanted to.
“Nah. If somebody can take two or three things out of all that and do them, they don’t need much else.”
I thanked him and told him I hoped he would have a good afternoon.
“I will. I’m going to sit down and do nothing. It’s amazing how far doing that can get you most of the time.”
Just in case there’s vitality in nature, I walked barefoot and talked to the thousand birds that surrounded me. Most were unseen, but few went unheard.
Unlike us, who mostly stay silent for fear of our voices being ridiculed. You’ll be mocked whether you’re silent or singing. Your words and letters will be judged, mostly by people who can neither aptly wield a pen or dare to hold a note.
A crow followed me across the area I refer to as the alien meadow due to the strange vertical plants that secretly grow there each year. I hated to leave it behind because it was cawing for my benefit.
I love writing about positive interactions. But I remind people that not all of them are. A few minutes ago, I managed to make myself laugh after running into someone who thinks the world was created just for her.
Wandering the park, I was listening and watching for birds. Not people.
“What are you doing?” The woman’s voice surprised me. I looked up to see a woman standing a few feet away. She held a leash attached to a beautiful dog.
“I’m enjoying the morning. How are you doing?” I smiled as I looked away from my bird app for a second.
“No, I meant, what are YOU doing?” There was a tone to her voice, one which implied that she was both the gatekeeper of the area and had the right to ask anyone at any time how dare they be where they are.
“Right now, I’m wondering how cleverly I can indirectly insult you so that you’ll go about your morning and enjoy it so that I can do the same.”
“There’s no reason to talk to me that way,” she said, as she pulled on the dog leash. The dog wanted me to pet it. Or perhaps rescue it from the clutches of its owner. She looked the kind of dog owner who would individually count every pebble of food before feeding the dog. I had an aunt like that.
“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” I said as I smiled.
The woman grunted and mumbled to herself as she marched away. I’m 100% sure that she wished she had a hard marble surface to stomp on so that I would have to listen to her heels clicking as she high stepped.
When she reached a point about 20 yards away from me and across the steel bridge, I couldn’t resist. Some of the people who know me know I do one hell of a pterodactyl scream. I let loose.
I watched as the woman froze and looked around. Not seeing anything, she returned to her disapproving high step walk. At which point, I let out an even louder pterodactyl scream. She froze again for a second and then walked as fast as anyone can without breaking into a run.
Because of the early hour and the magical absence of traffic or mundane sounds, you might be surprised how far a pterodactyl scream carries in the beautiful misty morning.
I let out five shriekingly loud pterodactyl screams before letting the morning return to its normal quiet state. Just in case someone else is using the Merlin app. They’ll have one hell of a story trying to explain the noise they heard on an early Saturday morning.
Because I’m up early enough every morning, I went outside to enjoy the beautiful weather at 1:00 a.m. and to watch the red blood moon eclipse. As with so many things, it doesn’t matter whether I post a beautiful well-defined picture or a careless one. I took pictures when the moon was crimson, but oddly prefer the crescent-lit luminescent bites of the Moon. You can find beautiful red shots of the moon in other places. All of them will render second hand experiences if you weren’t up and outside to witness it
Pictures have meaning when they are anchored to first-hand experiences. To stand outside barefoot close to the Ides of March, looking up to the sky in the dead of the morning was special. But it’s like trying to explain the color blue to someone without vision. It was my stolen moment and I’m sorry you weren’t there to witness it.
I think Erika might have heard me joke one too many times about getting a mannequin for pranks.
This one arrived with only one instruction included: Do NOT burn incense near this mannequin after 8: 34 p.m. There were some odd Chinese symbols of knives, fire, and amputation with the admonition regarding incense. I’m sure it’s nothing.
I dressed Ursula and then used my fabulous wig to top off the ensemble.
In other news, this damn thing has startled me more than once already. Adding the knife to the right hand will be a nice addition on extermination day or in the unlikely event someone is stupid enough to break into my apartment.
My cat Güino has already indicated Ursula is a better conversationalist than me.
PS The prank possibilities with this mannequin are infinite!
Dickson Street is a ghost town early in the morning, after all the night zombies make their exodus. I love the experience of seeing and hearing things when the world is silent. It’s a little warmer this morning but the wind puffs and reminds me that it’s still cold. The crescent moon hangs in the southern sky.
At one point in my walk, the thunder of distant sirens wailed for a bit. It was a strained metaphor for the wild and uncertain world spanning out around me. Beauty and horror are constant companions.
We’re all visitors here, no matter where we call home. Just because we have decades to call a place our home, it doesn’t conceal or deny the fact that impermanency is our master. Yet we keep arguing and fighting, as if our efforts are more than personally significant milestones.
I can’t walk around deserted towns without being introspective. It feels like there’s an elusive revelation just around the corner each time I do it.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 