The noise in our neighborhood today is of a good sort. Gone are the freezing
temps and blast of leaf blower. Today I passed the path not taken, nodded,
stopped to allow Hamish to erase others’ smells and generally to take in what
the woods have to offer. I was rewarded with or by a red-headed woodpecker.
That, at least is what I called it; my ability to identify birds is akin to an
elephant’s—I can’t say what I don’t remember or never knew in the first place.
As I stood still I heard, like the rush of kids let out of the primary school
close by, plants exulting in the sun. “Come on guys, let’s groooooooow.”
False spring in all its glory. Later I expect to catch Mimo sun-bathing
(chickens do that when they feel safe). Maybe I’ll take the newspaper outside
with the last of the coffee, to encourage fluffing, preening and amazing
(active verb). I almost feel I should add “llc” after those three words, some
kind of image consultancy?
Earlier in the week, we were grumpy. Here you need to know we’ve had, if not
the weather of the East, a long cold spell. I was looking at a photo from eight
years ago, the chickens hunkered below their sleeping area, looking perturbed.
I asked Mimo if she remembered.
“Of course I do. I remember where you put the food—grainy stuff near the
sleeping area, seeds or rice or whatever…round the other side.”
“I wasn’t talking generally.”
“Well that’s good, because you’re no general.”
“And you’re no John Kennedy.”
We paused for a less-than-companionable silence. I tried, “They cut down the
giant tree by the school."
“Trees encourage squirrels.”
“But they provide you with cover.”
“And crows.”
“Crows tend to sit out in the open, do they not?”
“Fair point.”
“So why aren’t they attacked?”
“Go close. You’ll learn.”
“A murder of crows?”
“Absolutely. Don’t mess with dark forces.”
I shivered. “So how are you keeping?”
“How am I keeping what?”
“In yourself? How are you doing?”
Mimo, “I do most of what I do in myself. Be a funny kind of animal that got
out of itself.”
“Ghosts, or crabs.”
“What are they?”
“You’ve seen them. We bring them home in a red container.”
“Tanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I thought they were called tanks. Birds talk about things with armor where
feathers ought to be.”
I explained, “Tanks are generally bigger.”
“Bigger?!”
“Quite a lot. Maybe one day I’ll buy one for the garden and you’ll see. A
friend posted a photo of a surplus in Italy. Possibly if I play my cards
right, they’ll send one.”
“Do that soon. I’m interested. You mentioned ghosts?”
I decided we could discuss those another time. “Back to my question. How are
you passing the time?”
“I don’t pass it; it passes me.”
“Time?”
“I do my best to avoid giving it attention—only makes the situation worse— but
it does seem to be in a hurry nowadays.”
“Know what you mean. Any tricks or tips?”
“Avoid big commitments.”
“Such as?”
“Speaking engagements. I postpone or defer.”
“Wise. One never knows.”
“You don’t? I thought gods knew stuff.”
“Some do. But not a lot.”
As I said, birdsong and plants being exuberant are really a considerable
improvement.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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