I am the trinket

 

I am floating alone in this tiny raft in this massive ocean.  The night sky appears to stretch beyond its borders, with more stars than one could ever count.  It is only the daylight hours that push down upon me.  The bright sunlight bakes me dry, and hurts my skin.  The absence of sound is deafening.  It is only my heart beat keeping the conversation going. 

The ocean treats my raft as a toy, to be bounced about, playing it's game of keep-away with death.  I am the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.   Various creatures swim just below the surface, like awaiting fingers trying to reach the prize, bouncing and shaking the box, in hopes I pop out, but I tightly hang on. 

Even though nighttime hours are cooler to my skin, the blackness of the water has with it a current of fear that I hate.  I should try to sleep now.  The water gently lapping against the raft is soothing, but it is my fear keeping me awake.  Maybe I'll count more stars, while hoping an errant wave doesn't flip me over.  Leave it to the devil to open the box from the bottom.

Stormy

 

She was the terror of the playground.  Without warning she would sweep across, knocking over bullies, scaring adults, and never giving in to barometric pressure of any kind.

 

Stormy was an Ill wind that blew no good.  She was often cold, never bothering to look back at the damage she had caused.  Her thunder was mighty, with a temper that was lightning quick.  Sometimes dark and brooding, she'd just hang around, waiting and watching.  Often striking without provocation. 

 

She was an only child, spoiled at an early age, and as most predicted, turned into a little whirlwind, throwing tantrums and trailer parks around like they were nothing.   And never be fooled by her tears.  Whenever she turned on the waterworks, havoc ran through the streets.  No one was safe.

 

Everyone knew her, some feared her, but all were glad when she left.  Her name would linger in conversations, and the memory of her seemed to last forever.  Like I said, she was a spoiled little brat that no one ever liked, but once she was gone, it was as if the sun came out of hiding and wanted us to think it had been there all along.

Three Things

 

    There are three things I wish I were smart enough to figure out.  The first is time travel.  How amazing would that be?   Completely understanding all aspects of physics, earth's and all other gravitational forces, and all physical and mental limitations with respect to the effects on humans.

     The second would be smart enough to know which direction to travel,  forward or back, and, third, having the knowledge and wisdom to know if I even should.

      Failing all that, I'll simply stay here and putz around with this blog.

    That's it for now.
    This is ZC, from inside the box.

Run and Hide

 

    It appeared as a husk, a thick covering from some type of fruit.  I obviously was not at all familiar with it.  The thing that caught my attention was its underside appeared to be moving, as if alive. 

    Certainly, no fruit I ever heard of.  If it were an animal hide, what possibly could it have been?  I wanted to pick it up for a closer look, but I dared not touch it.  Whatever it was moving around just under the skin I didn’t want moving around on me.  I wanted to snap a picture, a close-up, if possible, but my phone was out of juice.

          If I had something to put it in, I’d carry it back with me.  It is possible someone else might recognize it right off and tell me what it was I had discovered.  At least I should mark this location.  If I can’t take it with me, at least I should be able to find this spot again.  I bent down once more to have a final look and that’s when I noticed the smell.  Now, I really wasn’t sure if it was part of an animal or rotting fruit.  Yikes!  I’d have that smell to remember for some time.

          Why, I thought, hadn’t I smelled it the first time I leaned over to look at it?  Was it decomposing right before my eyes?  Then again, if it were rotting, why weren’t there flies or ants crawling about?  Nature cleans up her own messes.  What was different about this?  If this were a hide, then what happened to the animal it's from?  Something larger must have torn the thing apart, and if that’s the case, maybe I shouldn’t be hanging around here at all.

    What was that?...

 

A True Indication

 

I believe the common thread that runs through all of us is the music with which we grew up.   Even a portion of a lyric can spark a memory or feeling.  A simple tune can make a connection to something long ago.  She came in through the bathroom window, doesn’t to us, suggest a felony, but perhaps a calming remembrance of a time past, just as a bridge over troubled water wasn’t something we saw on the weather channel.

Couples tend to have a favorite song.  For them, it locks in a promise, a commitment of harmony.   These tend to be universal threads, no matter the country, language or culture.  It signifies our time, this took place when we were here, and I remember it.

A true indicator of your age is how rarely your favorite song gets played on the oldies station. 

 

Lost and Found

 

    There was a substantial wad of bills laying just outside of the restaurant last night.  It was only natural to bend down and pick it up as I walked past.  My friend gave me a slight punch on the arm to get my attention, and then said I should have never picked it up.  He said it could have been some sting operation with cops hiding in the bushes watching it.  Maybe it was some ransom drop or something.

        I told him he was being silly.  More likely, someone heading in to have dinner simply dropped it.  I was going to ask, once inside, if anyone had lost some money.

        At that, he hit me a little harder and said that was a stupid plan.  Of course, everyone’s going to put their hand up and say it was them.  He said I needed to think this through before I do anything.

        As we walked into the place, we could see it was very crowded, and loud.  Everyone was talking at once, with waitresses hustling between tables trying to keep up.  We were seated in a corner booth, and each given menus and a glass of water by some kid wearing a not quite clean apron.

        I just kept the money in my pocket until I could figure out what to do with it.  We looked over the choices, even though we both always ordered the same thing whenever we came here.

        My buddy put his menu down and whispered across the table that I should count it.

        Not here, I whispered back, and not now.  It isn’t mine, and if it is too much, I’ll be tempted to keep it.

        The moment those words left my mouth I knew what I had just declared, and he instantly knew it too.  At some point, I had a price.  I would be a crook for the right amount of money.  Now I didn’t even want it in my pocket.  I wanted nothing to do with it.

        Apparently, he was reading my expression, and didn’t want me to feel any worse than I already did.  “Just drop it on the floor, under the table.  Let someone cleaning up tonight find it.”

        I don’t know why, but that sounded like a good idea.  I’d let someone else have a lucky day, and surely, someone cleaning up on the late shift could use the money.

        “What’s it going to be, Honey?”

        I jumped, the waitress was standing right next to me, and I hadn’t even noticed her walk up.

        About twenty minutes into the meal, we noticed the waitress and the restaurant manager over at a table where an old couple had been sitting.  I could see there was an issue of paying the bill.  The old man kept standing up and checking his pockets, while his wife franticly dug through her purse.

        I looked at my friend and said they can’t find their money.  My friend got a big grin on his face and said, “Do you want to be a hero?”

        Sure, I replied, and stood up and walked over to their table.  “Excuse me Sir, but I believe this is yours”, and I handed him the wad of cash.

        He looked stunned, then smiled, and looked like he wanted to hug me.  He peeled off a fifty and handed it to the waitress.  “You can give the change to him.” He said, looking at me.

        After I sat back down at my table, I told my friend what had transpired.  I thought the waitress was going to bring me a buck or two from the old man’s change.  Turns out, all they had was two coffees.   The waitress explained, that was all they ever have, every night.  Obviously, it was still my lucky day.

 

 

Morning Light

 

Unaware of the activity within the room, I begin to construct my web.  The sunlight striking this window will surely attract those who may have overslept.  I am hungry, but I shouldn’t let that distract me from my duties.  This corner of the window is perfect, I can affix three sides securely, and fill this net with straight lines as well as angles.  I mustn’t slow down.  The warmth of the sun is growing.

I notice now that all the while there has been some human muttering, walking back and forth, seemingly annoyed at something.  Whatever, I cannot be bothered, my web is elaborate and sturdy.  There is no wind on this side of the window, which is good, but also no breeze to nudge any passers-by into my trap.  The food supply is great just outside, but so is the cold.  I chose to stay here.

The human has stopped and now peers down upon my handiwork.  He admires my web, as he should.  I must admit it is quite impressive.  I will back up into this corner and wait.  I could use the rest.  He now will be my entertainment, him, and his crowbar.