Sunday Solitude

It’s the last Sunday of the month.

At second glance, it’s the last day of the month.

I hadn’t noticed.

At 11 a.m., the thermometer read 87 degrees.  This time last summer, we had already hit 100.  I’ll happily accept 87 and smile over it.

Last night while putting the sheep and goats to barn-bed, there was an amazing cloud bank in the northern sky that ran east to west as far as I could see.  The lightning flashed and danced miles away. The fragrance of the oncoming rain was so heavy I believe I could've spooned it from the air like ice cream.

It never rained.

The back porch has been a welcoming retreat this morning ‘til late this afternoon…..

…….despite the accompanying Red-winged Blackbirds.

My least favorite of the winged species, they hide in droves [like a collective conspiracy] and wait for me to come outside to squawk and cackle at me.

Indeed, they do.

Jake, the man-dog, is sleeping on the patio beneath the porch; his presence made known only by his occasional exhales.

The view of the chair on the dock is rather tempting from my vantage point here on the back porch.  As sure as I move into it the breeze will cease and the resident gnats will hijack my thoughts.

I can hear our infamous and all too handsome Kingfisher working the creek northward.  The cricket and cicada choirs have quieted with the heat of the day setting in.

There is a single Red-winged Blackbird out in the yard who is determined to impede on my thoughts – he and his flittering girlfriend.

Still, the chair calls and I weigh my options as I notice the dark clouds moving in from the west.  I may as well as I just realized that my morning coffee is sitting here cold and long ignored.

As the late afternoon settles in, the rain arrives escorted by

ever.

so.

gentle.

Thunder.

It’s a moment calling for Norah.

Melancholy.

HKJ

Copyright © 2013

All Rights Reserved.

It's Friday and That's All I Got

It can be a peculiar thing to be a writer.  Writers love words, use words, neeeeed words to generate a pause for thought, a soft laugh or something along those lines to pass along and convey whatever is on the writer’s radar-mindset and clearly needs to be shared with anyone willing to read along – or better yet ‘play along’.

But what happens when the words won’t come?

Where are those lettered combinations of language that effectively express the matter of the moment?

Do words have that much power? Can they vaporize out of sight or thought?

Those who know me know I am a social bug with verbal skills that could exhaust an ENtire army.  As a result, writing becomes an extension of my neeeeeeed to express myself.  So how is it that on this Friday in late June, all my words are missing?

They’ve picked themselves up and left the Dirt Road.

*POOF*

First, let’s remove the fodder words: “Hello” is a fodder word.  The phone rings and upon answering I say, “Hello”.  “Hello” doesn’t count and is exempt from the missing mass of words that have left my universe today.

More fodder words: “How are you?” “Fine, and you?” “Fine.”

I repeat: Fodder.

Then there’s the weather.  Even more fodder.  Do you really want a Dirt Road Weather Report?  I can provide you with a concise weather report that includes my all access to online satellite imagery direct from the National Weather Service (impressive – huh?).

It rained yesterday afternoon.  Today it’s hot.  It’s humid.  No, it’s MUGGY.  The sky is blue with white fluffy clouds slurring around thinking about merging this afternoon in order to rain right about the time I decide to go outside to accomplish something like cleaning boogers out of Buttermilk’s nose.  The satellite imagery shows that it’s a NO BEACH day along the panhandle of Florida and Mississippi and Alabama are under siege by a huge blue and red blob that has settled on top of them.  That very same blob should show up over here in a couple of days, unless it breaks up or the wind moves it north/northeast.  Cuba doesn't have a dry spot to stand in. Tomorrow will be a repeat of today.

There.  Fodder.

No real words – no words of passion or persuasion or thought provoking moments of wonder.  Fodder.

*POOF*

(sigh)

I repeat:   It’s Friday and that’s all I got.

HKJ

Copyright © 2013

All Rights Reserved.