Songbirds

Ever sit and wonder what the heck is going on? Wonder if you are out of touch with the rest of the world? Wonder if anyone is in charge? Of anything? Wonder if it is you that is directionless or is it everyone else? Around 6:00 AM this morning, I pondered some of those questions. Although there remains some confusion, I’m almost recovered from the endeavor.

I was out on the patio in my pajamas. I’m retired, growing older. Not near senility quite yet but carrying life’s whip marks. People expect me to walk out onto the patio in my jammies. I don’t disappoint though I don’t readily display my personals. Like my tattoo. Instead of parking it on one of those soft cushy patio chairs, I sat on the bench between the planters. You know, the little concrete one no one ever sits on because it’s for looking at. My first thought was dang that’s cold. I’ll have to try it sometime after the sun shines on it for a while. With some parts of my anatomy slightly puckered and shriveled, I crossed my legs and sipped coffee from my camouflaged mug. No matter how hard I focused on the problem, body heat refused to warm up my concrete seat. The Doc told me ice was good for inflammation in my arthritic hip so I figured it was a medicinal choice of seats. I’m insightful that way. I also believe a balanced diet is fried chicken in one hand and biscuits in the other. No. No one’s ever talked to me about cholesterol or heart disease. Besides I’m of the belief that a generous nightly sip of single blend sour mash whiskey cleanses the arteries just fine. Good for the mind too. And body aches. And the after affects of the nightly news and political speeches.

As the sun peeked out, I breathed in the fresh air and listened to the birds sing. I believe a gnat flew up my nose. It tickled and I snorted. The birds are lively this time of the morning. Wished one of them had eaten that danged gnat. Having been reared in the West Virginia hills, I longed to hear a rooster crow. At the same time, I was grateful to hear songbirds and not them doggoned crows. They’re as annoying as politicians and sound about the same. Reckon politicians eat road kill too? Sipping my coffee, I enjoyed nature’s sounds knowing full well that weed eaters and lawn mowers would soon ruin the morning’s serenity. Speaking of coffee, do you have one of those newfangled coffee machines. Don’t figure the price per cup. It may leave you sitting there mumbling mortgage coffee mortgage coffee. Fortunately, I don’t have a mortgage. From down in the valley came the low rumble and blaring horn of the passing through coal train. Never understood why they needed to blast that horn as they rolled through town. Morning wake-up call? It’s what you get for living near the railroad tracks. But don’t take that as an invitation to move up on the hill near me.

Sitting there, I concluded that God gave me a brief moment of peaceful tranquility to realize that I am doing just fine. I don’t consider it an epiphany, but rather a brief moment of clarity. These periodic moments of clarity concern me somewhat. Makes me wonder if it is only brief moments of clarity that I actually have fearing the present moment of clear thinking might leave me as soon as my butt thaws.

No, it’s not me, but some of ya’ll I’m concerned about. Now don’t take that personal. Some of ya’ll can be a sizeable group or just a few, but either way it’s not near as many as all ya’ll. All ya’ll generally applies to a known entity for instance Congress as in all ya’ll is crazy. Declaring concern for some of ya’ll leaves the possibility that I may fall somewhere into fringes of the sane group. The group that chooses to sit in the morning chill. In jammies. On a cold concrete bench. Drinking coffee. Enjoying the sounds of nature. Sorry, didn’t mean to wander off there.

I had a thought. Why do we have to bounce everything off what is supposedly mainstream. Main stream thinking. What the politician tells us most Americans believe. Or main stream media. What some news reader wants us to believe. I often think if what these folks are talking about is mainstream I’m hopelessly trapped way out there in the rapids and my waders are filling up with water. I have no hope of making it back to the calm waters of the mainstream. I’m headed over the falls and my barrel’s got holes in it. It’s scary being out here alone like that. I must avoid these moments of clarity. Blissful ignorance is the only way to survive. What were we talking about? Oh, I remember. The songbirds. Peaceful aren’t they.

© 2018 J. D. Pendry J. D. Pendry’s American Journal