The View from Here

 

It wasn’t all that difficult getting to the top of the hill, and once there I could not only see the valley below, but I could actually smell many of the scents that were passing by on the breeze. 

Not everyone had gone to bed for the night.  There were quite a few houses in the valley, each with several lights on.  Some chimneys had curls of smoke drifting up and across, and smoke was one of the smells I identified. 

Every now and then a firefly would light up and then another.  I wondered if they were talking to each other or just showing off.  I had no idea what the insect world was thinking, and sharing the planet with so many, you’d think I’d take more of an interest.  There must be many more insects than there are people.

It’s a good thing they don’t build houses and have smoking chimneys. We wouldn’t be able to walk around without stepping on them and have them crunch under our shoes.  They already have their hands full, avoiding being eaten by birds, lizards and spiders.

As the house lights below disappeared, I could see more and more stars.  The night sky really is amazing. It wasn’t all that comfortable standing there looking up, and as I had nothing to sit on, I made myself comfortable on the ground, leaning against a rock. 

I was enjoying the possibility of seeing something, anything streak across the night sky, but then a thought came to me.  Again, it was about the insects.  Now, here I sat in their world, right at ground level.  Possibly surrounded by millions of them.  I couldn’t even imagine all the different kinds.  Each one stranger looking than the last, and of course some that bite.

It was difficult to focus on the heavens while thinking I was probably someone’s dinner.  Tiny creatures feasting on me as I sat there, possibly crushing some of their houses or family members.  I was an unwelcome monster, blocking out their sky with my bigness.

I felt I should leave, but making my way down the hill at night would not be easy.  I have no flashlight or walking stick, nothing but me against the downward pull of gravity.  I guess I wasn’t thinking ahead.  I was too busy enjoying the night sky. 

It could be that on some other planet, we might be the insects, but I’ll think about that after I get back down off of this hill.

 

 

ZC

I can see where you're sitting

 

But I doubt I could pick you
out of a crowd.

...and without warning

 

At the present time there was nothing outside but the feeling that something was about to happen.  That is never listed when talking about the five senses.  Touch, sight, smell, hearing and tasting.  That eerie feeling is real, and I have witnessed it few times before.

 

***

        I know exactly the feeling you're talking about.

It's not quite touch, sight, smell, hearing, or taste. It arrives before any of them have delivered a clear message. You step outside and there's nothing obvious to point to. The sky looks ordinary. The trees seem still. Yet every part of you insists that something has changed.

People often call it a "feeling," but I suspect it's really a form of perception. Our brains are constantly collecting tiny bits of information that never reach conscious thought. Changes in air pressure before a storm. An unusual silence in the birds. A subtle shift in light. Familiar sounds that are suddenly absent. Your conscious mind may not notice any single clue, but somewhere below the surface they add up to a warning that simply arrives as: Something is about to happen.

Animals seem particularly good at this. Anyone who has lived around livestock, dogs, or wildlife has seen them become uncomfortable before a storm or disturbance. Humans may be less attuned than they once were, but I don't think we lost the ability entirely.

What's fascinating is that the feeling isn't always attached to weather. Sometimes it's connected to events. You've experienced it a few times before, which is probably why you trust it. Our memories have a way of tagging those moments when the sensation was followed by something memorable, reinforcing the connection.

Your observation reminds me that perhaps the traditional five senses were always an oversimplification. We talk about balance, temperature, pain, the sense of where our limbs are without looking at them. Maybe there ought to be a place for this one too:

Expectation.

The sense that notices the world has shifted one fraction of an inch before the rest of us catch up.

Or, as you put it more simply and perhaps more accurately:

"At the present time there was nothing outside but the feeling that something was about to happen."

That's a wonderful line, because it treats the feeling itself as part of the landscape. Not a thought in the observer's mind, but something actually waiting out there in the air. Like standing on a porch and seeing nothing at all except the arrival of a future that hasn't quite arrived yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ouch!

 

If ever back in time I went

I know just what I’d buy

I’d get a Magic Eight-ball

shake it up and try,

 

I’d ask it if I would be rich

have a house and fancy car

I’d question it if I was smart

It’d tell me, “Not so far.”

 

 

 ZC

Then and Now

Back when I was a kid there were consequences when mistakes were made, and depending upon the severity of the error, the consequences changed. 

The one thing I notice about today is that the consequences have disappeared.

 

Politicians go on national television and lie, and yet nothing happens to them.

 

My postman delivers mail to the wrong address, and nothing happens.

 

The doctor misdiagnosed the problem.  Oops, sorry.  Next!

 

I anticipate there to be long-term effects to a society functioning without consequences.  Of course, I could be wrong, but if I am – nothing happens.

 

 

ZC

The Curse

 

How is it I can write a word

that fits so easily

yet spell it incorrectly

a mistake I never see,

 

Only after I push send

does someone point it out

the only reason there must be

it is a curse - no doubt,

 

But who would give me such a curse

to disrupt my letters so?

Surely not my racket club

it’s no one that I know,

 

A stranger then, I’m sure of it

just random I can tell –

they left behind a puddle

and I stepped into a spell,

 

I got a little on my shoe

it splashed upon my cuff

It hung on all through laundry day

this pesky curse was tuff,

 

It’s on my shirts and in my socks

it is on my underwear,

and I’m thinking back on Tuesday

I combed it through my hair.

 

Spell-check doesn’t catch it

the grammar police don’t see

I guess I have to live with

the curse all over me.

 

 

    ZC

Reasonable Doubt

 

The judge, the prosecuting attorney, and even the spectators could see it.  Every single juror had shown up with it.  No one had to give it to them.  They all had reasonable doubt, and you could see it on them. 

The moment the trial began, Randal Hiller, the prosecutor stood up and claimed unfair surprise.  The judge knew he was right but had no precedent to refer to.  He had never seen anything like it.

“Your honor, this isn’t right.  Someone has gotten to this jury, I’m sure of it.”  The judge was staring at the jury box, trying hard to understand it.  Of course, the defense attorney just sat there grinning.  Somehow his case had been won for him. 

Finally, the judge struck his gavel and told the bailiff to clear the courtroom.  He was going to pole every juror and find out what was going on.  One by one the jurors were called into the judge’s chambers, and each one was questioned. 

Betty Otowski was the first juror summoned to the judge.  With her purse hanging over her shoulder and still clutching her knitting, she took a seat across from the judge.  For an uncomfortable few minutes, the judge just looked at her and said nothing.  Betty squirmed a little in her chair but so far just looked back at him.

 

“So where did you get it?”

 

“Get what?” Betty responded.

 

“Don’t play dumb with me.  The reasonable doubt, who gave it to you?”

Betty placed her knitting in her lap and began telling the story of when she was young and her parents told her about Santa Claus. Of how fat he was and how he supposedly got into houses.  The more she spoke, the more the judge could see why she grew up doubting everything she was told.  Even though Betty had not finished telling her long and drawn-out story, the judge excused her and told the bailiff to send in the next juror. 

Scott Thomas came in and stood next to the chair.  The judge looked at him and told him to have a seat.  Scott looked around the room and then began to examine the chair, as if it might be booby trapped. 

 

Annoyed, the judge said, “You’re one of those doubting Thomas's, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, your honor.  I’ve been one all of my life.  My dad was one, both of my brothers…”

 

“You’re excused” grumbled the judge, and the bailiff took him back out into the courtroom.

 

Homer Cleverton walked in with a pencil and a yellow legal pad.  The judge did not have a good feeling about this guy, so he jumped right in with his questions.  “Where did you get that reasonable doubt?”

Homer looked up from his yellow pad and asked for clarification.  “Judge, when you say reasonable doubt, are you referring to the doubt that is inherent in all mankind or are you…”

“You’re excused.  Get out of here.”

And so it went, one by one, each juror gave their own testimony as to their personal state of mind, and the judge could see there had been no collusion, no shenanigans at all.  There was nothing he could do but to carry on with the trial and with that jury.  Although an odd collection, a very odd sampling of the population, he felt he had to go with it.

Back in the courtroom he looked at the prosecutor and with a slight shrug, said “Good Luck.”

 

 

 

 

ZC