(Setting: near a large horizontal window at a gala)
Both stood and watched the window like a screen.
Birds flew by to Chopin’s salon-friendly Nocturnes.
The woman, holding champagne, smiled and beamed.
Her burgeoning beau was charmed and stood close.
They were having a Hollywood moment!
The birds, like fish in a bowl, circled in groups,
rose like ocean waves then dipped back down
and raced fiercely across the manicured landscape.
The man and woman looked into each other’s eyes,
smiled warmly and returned their gaze to the window.
A jealous suitor sat in the background, transfixed.
For him, Chopin’s piano music had stopped,
for he was attuned to the alarm of the birds.
He was witnessing something beyond ordinary.
I heard the choppy sound of a low-flying helicopter lingering nearby this morning at 7:30 for many minutes. Finally, I looked out my window, and all I could see was a sky that was admiral blue and a faded moon, full and hovering over the dome-shaped crown of a towering green tree. I peered through the leaves and branches, eagerly searching for a clue, for on the other side was a reality that differed from the one I was experiencing. This was apparent when a dove shot into the sky from behind the tree, gained altitude and vanished.
I did not know: The Bird Man is a motorcyclist!
Each day in his yard, pouring out fresh water for his feathered visitors, he hobbles to complete this daily task. And now, here he is, in usual T-shirt and sagging, beat-up denim, perched on the seat of a Harley — its engine choking and rumbling on a cool September morning.
It all makes sense, too — his hobble and the Harley and everything else. It all dovetails seamlessly.
Fly, Bird Man, fly,! For the migration season is upon us!
In the triple-digit heat, three unmasked older couples sat out on the patio under the misters, sharing a table and talking with gusto in a release of all the gossip and opinion that had been bottled up inside them for months
I awaited my take-out order near the register, wearing my bandana over my mouth and nose and my surgical mask layered over it.
The waitress wore a Betty Boop mask. She had thick, long eyelashes and blue eye shadow. I watched her as she, wearing a pair of blue surgical gloves, poured red wine into three large goblets and placed them on a tray.
Continue reading “Make this restaurant great again”
Nature can perhaps be thought of as a living thing that is part of our household and family, such as a cat or a dog, meaning that it trusts that we will care for it. And when we do not, this can be seen as betrayal and negligence. I could not fathom forgetting to feed my cat or to give her water and also to otherwise make sure she stays well. Same goes for the people around us. To a degree, they perhaps hope and expect we may act in their best interest, or at least not knowingly cause them harm. At best, we can help all life forms around us thrive, including ourselves.
With covid upon us, my weight spikes like virus cases in the U.S., but sometimes I wake up early enough to take walks
With covid, I do switch to the opposite side of the street if I see you coming my way, mask or not
With covid, I sometimes will watch a bus go by as I walk, and I realize that the driver must be as brave as first responders
With covid, many folks risk their lives to make ends meet
Although with covid, our economy sucks
And nothing is really changing to adapt for future, similar challenges, such as another global pandemic
Meanwhile, with covid, even being a consumer can be as sketchy as being in an ER, such as if you make an unnecessary run to the bookstore or go to the salon to get your nails done
Continue reading “In the age of air-hugs”
You can sit down to cheesecake.
Served on proper plates with a fork, you cut into it for a well-selected piece.
Cheesecake is romance food, and if you eat it solo, these are special moments with yourself.
To eat cheesecake is to dominate and get what you want: it’s pliable yet firm, with no falling apart at the last minute and little cleanup afterward.
Cheesecake is pleasure with precision.
And because you are being so decadent, you are accordingly proper while eating it.
Oscar Wilde was editor of Woman’s World magazine, 1887-89. He also championed conventional attire for men.
John Lennon wore white. Fashion magazines will sometimes run his pic.
During an interview, a tidily dressed David Bowie did a good rendition of Lennon, voice-wise. It was abrupt but went over well.
Allen Ginsberg played finger cymbals and wore black. Ginsberg had a knack for mantra, and children loved him.
Was William Carlos Williams swallowed up by the forest? (The doctor chuckles as he sinks into the white beyond.) Maybe it was a happy death? Continue reading “Sporadic notes on cultural icons”