Guilty

 

I accept full responsibility

 

I did not witness it myself, but I was the only one to pass that way during the time in question.  I don’t see how it could have been anyone else. 

I should start at the beginning.  Two days ago, as we were entering Publix Supermarket, Claudia pointed out the giant scale against the wall.  I had never noticed it before.  Of course, I felt compelled to walk over and step up onto it.  The dial pointed to 175.  You’ll understand the importance of that in a minute. 

Fast forward to this morning.  As I made my way to the bathroom, I noticed something on the carpet.  I didn’t have my glasses on, and the hall light was not on, so I didn’t know if it was a bug or a sock fuzz or what.  I kept watching it and I didn’t see it move at all, so my hopes were leaning towards a piece of fuzz.

I flipped on the hall light.  It was a bug, and I can say without any hesitation, it was a very dead bug.  In fact, it was squished beyond recognition.  At sometime during the night our paths must have crossed, and 175 pounds must have proven to be too much for the little guy.

 

I felt bad, but at that point there was nothing to be done.

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

at the end of the leash

 

For those of you old enough to have used a record player, you’ll most likely remember that once the needle followed the curve in the record to the end, the record player kept rotating, while the needle kept bouncing against the edge of the label.  There was no more music, just the sound of the needle scraping against the paper. 

Over time I’ve come to recognize a similarity between that event and when I sit here and feel like writing but I’m no longer in the grove.   I search for a worthy topic, or failing that, I attempt to create a photograph that might potentially be blog worthy.  

Having just written that, I feel I should write about the two lives that just passed by my window.  Both were at the end of a stretched-out leash.  One dog walker and two dogs.  The dog walker does not hold my interest, but when I consider the view of the daily walk, as seen by the dogs, I have to consider that they have been cooped up indoors for hours and have looked forward to this event with excitement and great anticipation.

With a sense of smell far greater than ours, I would guess the neighborhood offers much more for them to appreciate than it does for us.  The sights and sounds at their height reveal to them all the things that go unnoticed by those of us usually in a hurry, and as they are barefoot, the road and ground give their walk an entirely different feel, far more real than the dog walker gets in her sneakers.

They are now out of my view.  The music has stopped and my creative needle wobbles freely, awaiting the next inspiration to start.  Will it be a classic, maybe something from long ago, a story perhaps?  I guess I’ll just have to wait along with you.  Hopefully it is something good.

 

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope the light comes back on

 

Tis a very fragile balance

where we live and what we do

We cannot fix the things that break

so we must buy them new

 

Everything’s electronic

simply plug them in

Planes are supersonic

the ice is oh so thin

 

Employees in the workforce

haven’t got a voice

Livelihood’s dependent on

who was nobody’s first choice

 

Prices just get higher

wages – not so much

Politicians get elected

even though they’re out of touch.

 

Tis a very fragile balance

and should the problem linger

Pull the plug – then plug it in

and then just cross your fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Treasure

 

What value are coins

too heavy to carry

I’d need pockets so big

they’d look a bit scary

 

To take them to market

would be too unkind

A spot for the coins

they never would find

 

No vending machine

so mighty and grand

Accepts such a coin

they’re not in demand

 

What value are coins

all silver and gold

But to bury them deep

draw an X, so I’m told

 

Sprinkle clues here and there

till the kids find the map

Let them dig and rejoice

at finding this  treasure

 

 

    zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We're not in Kansas anymore

There is a tree in the hallway.  The color of everything feels a bit off but it is the tree that has my attention.  Am I outside looking in at it, and if so, what is a tree doing inside?  If I were someone who took drugs, I’m guessing this might be a normal vision, but I don’t, so what’s going on?  I’d like someone to explain this to me. 

Maybe this is a tinted window.  That would explain the odd color.  I can’t really tell where the light is coming from.  I don’t see a distinguishable shaft of sunlight.  Just what is this place and how did I get here?

Is that even a tree or is it a stack of pots with a plant in the top one?   Maybe I need a CAT scan. 

 

 

 

Self-inspection

 

When I reach the end will I regret having spent my life writing?  What end did I expect?  Was this a quest for something?  A search for purpose?  Will I have wasted my life playing with inactive verbs and mannequin nouns? 

I have turned thoughts into images, ideas into stories, all the time, not even once, riding a seahorse or taking an active part in anything requiring sunscreen.  I have wiggled my fingers above this keyboard as if they knew what they were doing.  Planting words and spreading commas like fertilizer.  Believing things would grow while I remained just an onlooker, sitting along the sidelines watching the sprinkler rotate back and forth. 

Always missing were the sound effects.  With any luck the last thing I ever write will be…

 

Ta Daaa…

 

 

 

It looks much more serious in Russian

 Пришло пора, — сказал Морж, — Поговорить о разном: О башмаках, О кораблях, О сургуче и печатях, О капусте И о королях.

The time has come

the walrus said

to talk of many things,

of shoes and ships

and sealing wax

of cabbages and kings