"There ain't no birds up in here!"
Because one day we will all be old and forgetful.
Staring up into a very blue winter sky with the big North Carolina crows CAW-ing! CAW -ing! I wonder out loud about the melancholy their sound produces within my heart on this particular day. Belle reflects, "will these memories come back to us vividly one day?" One day when we struggle to remember our youthful thoughts, blowing in the breeze of our minds like fabric shredded in the wind, a piece of something impossible to grasp.....
Yes, Belle and I think: we will be sitting, hunched over in a cushioned chair, in some sort of stark building - I will cry out - "Look at the birds, so many of them in this sky, piercing my heart with their cry!?"
Prompting the care givers to exclaim "Missy! There ain't no birds up in here!"
But there are, there are, there are.....
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Cappy's story
There once was an orange tabby cat. His name was Cappy and he lived in the downtown streets of Raleigh. He could be seen zigging and zagging through the parked cars that lined the residences there, he seemed to look both ways before crossing the road, cause he was savvy that way. Staying away from the tall buildings where there was more traffic and danger, he walked the sidewalks with a relaxed saunter, cause he owned the world.
Cappy spent many cold winter nights balled up in a dark crawl space or huddled under someone's porch furniture. In the darkest hours of the night he would sometimes see a taxi drop off two lovers, too engaged in an argument as they walked up and into their house, to see his hopeful gaze. He didn't bother to make a sound, he was rarely noticed anyway. But, other times, older ladies draped in a lonely sorrow only he could see, would call him to them, give him bits of tuna and a stroke on the head.
With the coldest, most bitter rain, he would sit by a vehicle's tire, a warmth would still be lingering around it from a long commute home, it would give it up to him kindly and the wheel comforted him. As the rain turned to snow he would watch other cats called into their homes where they might roll by a fire. He resigned himself to vague memories where he might have stretched himself on a soft rug for a moment.
Just before dawn he would witness the awakenings of a busy world. Car doors slamming, sometimes children yelling out, the quiet monstrous buzzing of the trash trucks approaching. The birds starting to rustle. The birds calling. The fog of night would begin to shift and sway like strange spirits come to play in the breeze. It would dance in his olfactory sense and he would feel a deep yearning instinct.
Spring! Enduring a winter alone, warmer days descended upon him like the warmest of blankets. These were the days when his soul was so satiated he was content to just sit and watch the birds rejoice. Twisting himself on the warm brick walkways, he joined a clear blue sky and it joined him. After cooling rains he would walk through the steaming grass between houses, the smell of promised heat and musk rising, a cat or two watching from inside window frames, wishing for his freedom. He purred softly, low, low, low in his head, humming sweetly.
Such is life for all of us. Winter comes in all sorts of ways, settles in our heart far longer than we think we can bear. But a Spring is always ours for the taking, should we also choose to hum it into our veins it will warm us....
Cappy was captured! Taken out of the City and plunked down into the Country. More to follow....
Cappy spent many cold winter nights balled up in a dark crawl space or huddled under someone's porch furniture. In the darkest hours of the night he would sometimes see a taxi drop off two lovers, too engaged in an argument as they walked up and into their house, to see his hopeful gaze. He didn't bother to make a sound, he was rarely noticed anyway. But, other times, older ladies draped in a lonely sorrow only he could see, would call him to them, give him bits of tuna and a stroke on the head.
With the coldest, most bitter rain, he would sit by a vehicle's tire, a warmth would still be lingering around it from a long commute home, it would give it up to him kindly and the wheel comforted him. As the rain turned to snow he would watch other cats called into their homes where they might roll by a fire. He resigned himself to vague memories where he might have stretched himself on a soft rug for a moment.
Just before dawn he would witness the awakenings of a busy world. Car doors slamming, sometimes children yelling out, the quiet monstrous buzzing of the trash trucks approaching. The birds starting to rustle. The birds calling. The fog of night would begin to shift and sway like strange spirits come to play in the breeze. It would dance in his olfactory sense and he would feel a deep yearning instinct.
Spring! Enduring a winter alone, warmer days descended upon him like the warmest of blankets. These were the days when his soul was so satiated he was content to just sit and watch the birds rejoice. Twisting himself on the warm brick walkways, he joined a clear blue sky and it joined him. After cooling rains he would walk through the steaming grass between houses, the smell of promised heat and musk rising, a cat or two watching from inside window frames, wishing for his freedom. He purred softly, low, low, low in his head, humming sweetly.
Such is life for all of us. Winter comes in all sorts of ways, settles in our heart far longer than we think we can bear. But a Spring is always ours for the taking, should we also choose to hum it into our veins it will warm us....
Cappy was captured! Taken out of the City and plunked down into the Country. More to follow....
Saturday, March 6, 2010
This morning I just want to appreciate the beautiful sunlight. The days are getting warmer and longer and I do hope that we have seen the last of the white stuff. The sky here is the most amazing blue with not a cloud to be seen. As soon as The Rock Star wakes up to get on yet another conference call, I will head out into the light. Do my morning walk and clear my head. Last night I watched one of those live morning feeds we had recorded. A small Maine port town slowly waking. The sea gulls were crying stubbornly while the boats were caught in silhouette of a rising sun. And they sluggishly shuffled around on the docks cleaning and scrubbing their way to a big catch. There are no sea gulls here but I hear the crows already - screaming their way into a new day, they are annoying and insistent.
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