My Favorite Season

It is the first of May, the beginning of one of my favorite times of year, and a period of renewal and reflection. I was asked recently which season was my favorite? In times past I would have been alacritous in my response but as the tempering of age settles upon me I am not so quick to choose. I now find beauty and pleasure in all of the seasons.

Spring has the promise of newness. I love flowers! They are proof of God’s attention to detail. Daffodils are among my favorites because they are delicate in texture and color yet robust enough to break through the snow and frozen ground. They are like trumpets that herald the coming of spring and new life. The colors of this season are a symphony. Magnificent! Wisteria hangs heavy from their hosts over the river, bright and plump like grapes, seducing all with their enchantingly sweet aroma. Cherry tree and Dogwood blossoms make their debut. The tiny wild flowers, so small as to leave no impression of their own, paint the countryside in hues of lavender and butter. Spring is also the time of year to go hunting. Yes, I am a hunter, though my prey are Morel mushrooms. Starting around late March and lasting until late April the Morels are up here in Georgia. They are a culinary delight. Hunting Morels is the adult version of hunting Easter eggs only better because of the long hikes that are required through the woods.

Summer has pleasant long days and warm nights. The vegetable garden is in full gear. Tee shirts, shorts and flip-flops are my casual attire. The ardent summer sun massages away all reminders of an indifferent vernal equinox and warms my needy bones. This is the season for cook-outs and block parties, fireworks displays and sprinklers. The air is scented with the fragrant smell of a freshly mown lawns as children and dogs run and play. Fireflies light up the forest inducing a magical air and a reminder of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Nights Dream”. Kayaking trips down the Broad River and fishing in the neighborhood pond are activities to look forward to, regardless of whether or not they are actually achieved! Summer vacation means one thing; road trips. Time to traverse along the winding stretch of black tar ribbon in search of new adventure and discovery.

Autumn begins with fresh crisp air that tingles the skin. It is a bittersweet time as it spells the end of long days and warm nights but promises an impressive display of dazzling colors! It's this time of year that my taste for spices comes alive. Pumpkin pies are soon to be enjoyed, and hot chocolate! Mmmmmm. As the colder temperatures start to imbrue their overtones on the landscape, sweaters and coats begin to appear. The smell of wood being consumed in a fireplace as the sinewy fingers of smoke reach up and tickle the sky promises a warm hearth to retreat to when playing in the leaves ceases to be fun. One of the benefits of cold weather is that you have to get closer to the ones you love for warmth! Being a high touch person, this appeals to me.

Winter brings with it the promise of snow. I love snow! Standing in the woods while everything is white and the flakes are falling is near heaven to me. It’s a scene that burns bright in my memory and can be reflected upon throughout the year with ease. I wish we experienced just a little bit more of it here. The cold months bring out some favorite clothes, including hats. I like hats. Very few look good on me but the two that I have, a fedora and a Flat Cap, I like . I only wear ball caps when my hair is a mess or if it's raining. I don't care much for them, though they look cute on the girls. During Winter’s possession, many hours are lost to the timeless dark of evening. These are some of the best times to cuddle up with a favorite book, or explore new ones. A hot beverage, domestic fire dancing at the base of the chimney, snow visiting the window sill, and a quality book. Life is good!

Not in Front of the Girls!

I make it a habit not to disturb anyone or anything while they are having intimate relations but this morning I felt the need to intervene. Three feet from the entrance of the chicken coop was an unabashed no, brazen display of procreation. The party at hand were a pair of strikingly colored Copperheads. Now, I'm not one to take the life of anything without good cause but I saw no way around the need for a little chop-chop, Remington style! Talk about hitting the Daily Double!

The Person You Have Reached Is Not In Service

What is it about people who work in customer service who are neither into the customer or into service? Case in point; The other day I was sitting in my car at a local hamburger joint waiting to place my order. Granted, I should have been eating a veggie sandwich on wheat, extra tomatoes, and honey-mustard dressing from Subway, or a healthy smoothie crafted in my own blender at home, but there is just something about ketchup, mustard, and pickles on a hot hamburger patty bracketed by a bun. Perhaps its because it reminds me of childhood days; cookouts in the back yard, or 4th of July gatherings with family and friends waiting for the extravagant fireworks display, or Labor Day weekend block parties when all the neighborhood kids and parents got together to celebrate the passing of summer. I don’t know, but back to the order box.

“Can I take your order?” she sighed

“Yes, I’d like number 12”

“Whatchu want ta drink?”

“Coke, please”

“Anything else???” as if I’d better not trouble her any more than I already have.

“No, that will do, thank you”

“Drive around for your total”

What? Drive around for my total? The machine is right in front of you! Why can’t you give me the total now? O.K., so I drive around to the pick-up window. What I’m greeted with as a young woman who, judging from the look on her face, must have just found out that her house had burned to the ground and all of her shoes went up with it, or that she had just learned of her boyfriend sleeping with her best friend.

“How are you?” I asked with a smile.

“FINE!” she snarled. Yikes! Sorry I asked.

“$5.62” said she. I gave her a Hamilton and she returned the change, making quite sure she didn’t touch my hand in the exchange. After all, we wouldn’t want my pleasant disposition rubbing off on her. She handed me the drink, complete with soda running down the outside of the cup which I have to clean off with a napkin from the glove box. When I looked back at her I saw a bag dangling out of the window and her eyes piercing me, no doubt because of the great amount of time that had elapsed since the drink came forth. I took the bag, wish her a good day not expecting a response, none given, and drove along my merry way. Now, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think she was just having a bad day, or that some awful trauma was haunting her life, but that wouldn’t explain every other occasion to which I have experienced her glowing charm and polished interpersonal skills. Honey, no one is holding a gun to your head. If you don’t like your job or don’t like people, then please do us a favor and change professions. You might be happier as a lighthouse keeper, a crocodile wrangler, or shoveling snow at one of the Antarctica research stations.

Affairs of the Gallus domesticus

The drama begins at 4:15 am. Whoever made that damning statement to the truth, declaring roosters crow at first light, had never been awakened by the “first call” or, they lived in the city. So much for expertise. I, along with my new best friend Insomnia, have been awake to hear the call of the domesticated warrior. And so the day begins, long before first light.

Amongst my first chores of the day is to release the feathery ladies from their keep. If I am tardy to this event they are sure to advise that peace and tranquility will not be restored until their demands are met. Upon release I am granted instant gratification as the stage is now set for the morning’s first act.

It begins with the same game, “How many girls can we squeeze through a small opening at the same time”, concurrently with “Can I pass through this wire if I try hard enough?” Proof that Ron Hubbard is wrong. I have yet to witness Shredded Tweet!

The morning dance and display put on by Cogburn the rooster is an amusing sight. It is his dogmatic belief that all the girls should perform this dance with him. This is not the same tenet held by the girls, however. So the chase begins. Cogburn is not the fastest bird in the yard but makes up for it with his inexhaustible will. The mating rituals of Gallus domesticus are rather barbaric in the eyes of some. Either way, it is a spectacle. One morning Cogburn became congruent with this bestial notion. The ladies had not yet been released from their pen, which is a prerequisite to the conjugal tango, but Cogburn lost his sense of decorum. While his focus was having a sip, Cogburn pounced on her back driving her head under the water. Had they been swine she would have drowned, but roosters are more akin to flashpaper and so she escaped a terrible fate.

First light has long since passed. Cogburn is busy finding interesting morsels to proffer. He calls out with an excitable garble as he proclaims “Look at this! How wonderful” and bequeaths it to the objects of his affection. Such the gentleman is he. The girls ungrudgingly snack it down.

Grapes make for exciting play. As I take up my usual station on the deck, they flock to a spot where they know the goodies will appear. It makes no mind how many grapes I toss at once, it always turns into a rugby match. A grape is snatched up and the featherhead begins to run. The others join in the pursuit to see if they can steal away the undeniably best fruit. All the while the other grapes sit, awaiting their consumption.

There are currently a dozen birds in the flock. No, make that thirteen. Two of the girls suffering from Excessive Excitement Syndrome were relocated to a neighboring farm. The other night while locking the pen and doing the ritual head count I noticed that one of the girls had made a jail break and returned to her favorite roost. I suppose she didn’t like the victuals there. She’s been quiet ever since.

And so evening sets in. The birds are on their roosts, tucked in for the night. I check to see that they have water, top off their food, and collect the reason for this symbiotic relationship. They know my presence and cluck a few good nights, Walton’s style. It’s good for the soul to keep chickens! I, for one, am a better man because of it.

The Great Morel

I walked into the woods this morn
Along a path that’s gently worn
It weaves it’s way around the trees
The fresh new leaves set me at ease

The stillness in the air is frail
The rabbit hides behind the vale
The ground is damp with morning dew
My focus steady, straight, and true

The spider’s architectural grace
Now sits bedaubed upon my face
The threads of silk so fine and pure
My vision lost, so premature

But once again I start my flight
Guided by diffracted light
To seek the cache is still my goal
It's lust affects my very soul

And so I hunt the great Morels
In lush green hills and wooded dells
The elusive epicurean delight
I quest for it with all my might

Good Dog!

A mouse found its way into the bedroom this morning. The dog was busy trying to assassinate him. I moved all "skyscrapers" so the two cats would have an easy time of it. Looking under the bed I see both cats and mouse, sitting, "sipping tea". I pulled the extension cord, mouse shot out, dog moved in with lightning precision, flung the mouse against the wall, put the chomp on him. Mouse terminated. Cats FIRED! Good dog. Extra treats!

Ripples of My Life

The ripples on this pond seem like
The thousand pages of my life
They come and go with little sound
Yet in their depths is where I’m found

The actors, players on this stage
Recite the chapters page by page
Through every crest and trough they ride
And give accounts both far and wide

The waves absorb the pure white light
And give off colors dazzling bright
The tints and tones, the shades and hues
Perceptual insights as they muse

But who is watching my aquatic show
And so I wonder if they’ll know
The gentle man I’ve grown to be
Or is it lost to anonymity

And as the ripples slowly fade
I watch the end of this parade
Knowing too my life will cease
And pass into eternal peace