Potential Disaster

Every obstruction is cause for alarm. All it takes to block a culvert is a couple of sticks, the leaves collect, and the next thing you know water cuts a canyon across the driveway. Two old hands, we know we can't actually win. What we'd like to do is delay the accounting, the reckoning. If we get it right, nothing happens. I have to go sleep, my shoulders hurt. Couldn't sleep, got up, took an Aleve and got a wee dram. The AC was off, the windows were open, Black Dell seemed to enjoy being awakened at an odd hour. I was still musing, had managed to change a couple of commas, when the morning birds started singing. A brace of doves and a mocking bird that had mastered 12 or 14 different songs. Morning coffee, just at dawn, on the back porch. TR's wedding and reception on Saturday, I'm going, which is odd for me, I haven't been to a wedding in forever. And this one he serves as a converted Catholic. I can't imagine being converted, even on paper, for any reason whatsoever. Like Benjamin, on the Spanish frontier, I'd probably just off myself; but I am not of this world, wherein the be all and end all is the bottom line. I actually have a separate agenda, which concerns the way I felt about myself afterwards. Hard to disappoint me if I don't have any preconceptions. Condensed moisture dripping on a metal roof, the time signature is off, but I love the tapping. I now have the old Apple set up on my dining room table and have access to "Janitor College" which had me laughing so hard I spewed liquid across the floor. What I like is that the tone doesn't change. I'll be reading along, changing a few things, talking about butterflies, then mention another friend that died a bizarre death. Dancing at the edge of fiction. A place I know well. I don't draw that many lines anymore, simply reporting from the field, what actually happens is always stranger that what I might imagine. I couldn't make this shit up, five puppies fighting a coon for leftovers, two sparrow hawks dining on frog legs. She sidles up to him, rustles her wings, a mating dance, now I get it.