Monday, May 6, 2019
John Cage Would Be so Proud
I dunno; maybe it's Monday. Maybe I'm too old to live. Or maybe I'm a little more tuned in to my surroundings than usual. (John Cage would be so proud - for 4½ minutes, anyway.)
It's Spring, and the birds are all over it, am I right? The eastern sky has just turned that wonderful pale blue and the sun has not yet popped up its beautiful head. I’m listening to the perpetual declaratives of the flocks around me outside, and I’m having some difficulty focusing on my monitor. It’s a beautiful sound they’re making and I feel happy - content, anyway - to be a part of this moment. I relax and let it settle in.
Yesterday I watched a grackle hen strolling about our backyard, pecking at whatever she ran across. She seemed to be playing hard to get as a male strutted and posed, rustling his feathers and calling out with impassioned announcements. But at one point, one of his moves seemed a little sudden and the hen flew off. I couldn’t help but chuckle as befuddlement flooded his now-stilled countenance.
It’s spring, and I now recall once feeling as he apparently does; and I realize suddenly that my mind has wandered off.
The sun is now up, and certain realities are creeping back into my purview. I return my attention to the monitor and embrace once again the day’s tasks.
A spring morning; it was nice, for a moment.