Humpty Dumpty

As I sat on my patio this morning sipping coffee and reading my new book, Trevor Noah's "Born a Crime", I heard a cacophony of little birds chirping just above. One doesn't need to be from the jungles of Panama to discern that these frantic signals were not jubilation, but an alarm of danger. Seconds later, the ominous bully descended upon the tree's canopy, his black wings flapping aggressively like loose window shutters in a hurricane.

Determined to put up a fight, the little birds desperately chirped louder, flying frantically from branch to branch attempting to confuse and startle the dark invader. The crow remained stoic and unexcitable, calmly surveying the maze of branches and leaves while the tree's inhabitants flurried about in desperation. Looking up from my book, I sat paralyzed as I pondered the possibility of intervening. Should I let nature take its course, or attempt to help the birds defend their home?

While initially letting the universe unfold as it may, in the end, I decided I didn't like the menacing crow causing a raucous and disturbing the birds, even if their chirping often wakes me up well before my alarm is set to go off. Feeling a sense of kinship with my neighbors, I stood up and shouted at the crow and waved my book as intimidatingly as one can from 15 feet below in pajama pants and a cardigan. I'm certain the woman pushing a stroller as she walked by thought I was crazy...certainly wouldn't be the last time I'm sure.

Despite our synchronous teamwork, the ruse proved futile. As though a hand reaching in to a shallow, brook to retrieve a shiny gem, the crow's beak plucked a nest I hadn't noticed from a branch and absconded to a nearby rooftop with its prize. I had acted too late. Disappointed, I sat back down, but kept my eye on the bird as I watched it shake apart the expertly crafted nest to sift through its contents. Luckily, nothing fell out. I smiled sipping the last of my coffee, and after I was certain the bird noticed that I was giving him the stink eye, I returned to the memoir of a baby born to interracial parents during apartheid....a much calmer affair indeed.

I have since left my perch on the patio, but can still hear the birds. Their chatter seems to have calmed a bit, and now sounds like spouses arguing in a flooded basement over not having purchased the "other house". Surely the female bird was right...as is usually the case in these domestic disputes. I assume her partner will have a long day of reassembling what remains of their tousled abode. On the bright side, they didn't lose anything far more difficult to replace...although the male bird's ego did look a little worse for wear.

Life

We’ve been in one of the worst droughts in history. On my way out of work today I noticed it was raining outside. Not the usual, lazy and short-lived drizzle that teases the parched earth, but a hearty, heavy rain that causes rushing currents that sweep the streets, wiping things anew. It was beautiful, like the sultry walk of a woman from whom you’ve been away for a long time. As she saunters towards the bed, the morning beams slanting through the window set her legs aglow, while the breeze gently plays with the bottom of the dress shirt she borrowed. The coalescence of familiarity and magnetism in this moment makes you smile, wanting both for the feeling to never end, but also to be replayed over and over again in slow motion like the melodic nostalgia of your favorite song on repeat.

I admired the vigor with which it fell. A coworker stood beside me for what seemed like a half an hour. At first we shared short vignettes of the last time either of us had seen such a downpour, and the places we had lived where similar displays were commonplace. Afterwards, we stood in perfect silence…only the sound of raindrops throwing themselves upon the window could be heard. The world before our eyes glistening wet like the fading watercolors on a painting being sprinkled with tears.

The ride home was not as evocative, but equally dazzling. The rain had been accompanied by lightening and strong winds that bullied the weak and sun battered trees who lacked the strength to entrench themselves against the onslaught. Sirens flared and police cars blocked streets, while highway ramps were littered with debris, fallen branches, and toppled trees. Parking lots were peppered with growing puddles and once hurtled shopping carts that lay on their sides as though dying cattle. Thunder rumbled its warning in the distance like an angry god.

I was reminded that life is never without this quintessential display of duality, in one moment a nostalgic flirtation, a venerated remembrance, an appreciation of nature’s ineffable talents. On the other, a reminder of our vulnerability through a breathtaking exhibition of nature’s might as though we were mere game board pieces helplessly being scattered about…falling where we may.

Coastal Musings

Surreal indeed... a body part to the ethos of those inexplicable moments of pure heaven in which life overwhelms us; inspires us, cleanses, and melts away worry and angst. Those moments we commune with nature...inhaling atoms that once traversed the bloodstreams of our kin, whose feet tred before ours leaving both imprints in the earth, and in the pool of the universe whose ripples have now returned from whence they started. 

I sit above the ocean as do seagulls floating upon a wind's capricious breath; a feather at the mercy of vicissitude  and chance. Below, the waves' frothy fingers pour over the jagged rock, winding and weaving through the contours of time; cavernous wrinkles upon a swarthy, weathered face caressed and soothed by every breath the ocean exhales. 

I feel lucky in these moments...blessed even. As stressful and as difficult life can be to navigate and comprehend, what is always effortless is the soul's inherent ability and desire to do what it craves most, to be. The sound of waves are soothing, calming, and comforting...pleasant reminders that life, the world, the universe and everything in it is part of something greater, whether by design or accident, that has already been set in motion on an indiscernible direction and path. All we know is that we are an inextricable part of this harmony, residents of the same pool in which all of our actions create ripples that in time, will return to those who set them in motion. Which, logically, leads me to believe that God exists...waiting for us to return.

But this isn't what should concern us...when we create art, when we make love, when we run or cry, or laugh as we splash in water, or when we are tickled...we do not care why. Our souls are expressing themselves as they were intended to; unbridled, naked, unrestrained and without boundaries. In turn, we should not worry about where or when we shall return from whence we came, but let our hearts sing when they are compelled to do so, and enjoy every wave, every gust of wind, every kiss, every caress and let the feather fall where it may. 

Snow Day

It’s finally here! The snowy, call in sick whilst sitting on your couch with warm blankets and hot chocolate watching movies day that is. About 4 to 5 inches of beautiful powdered snow has fallen already and the flakes only seem to be getting bigger. My Doberman is looking out the window because he’s anxious to get the fun started. He absolutely loves the snow and always tries to eat as much of it as he can before it melts away. Even though I’ve already reassured him that it’s not time yet, he continues to pace and whine for me to take him out.

A few hours pass by . . . . . .

One movie down and my dog has given me enough shameless pouts to make Gandhi feel guilty. I suppose it’s time to take him out and get some shoveling done in the process. I get dressed and take a few pictures of the pretty landscape, before the neighborhood wakes up to address their cars and drive ways. I take a quick shot of the little bird house I bought last year for the family of Sparrows that prefer to nest in the luxury apartment (aka the dryer vent,) where warm streams of air undoubtedly beat out any other accommodations I could have prepared on my own. After the unfortunate death of its prior tenant, the birds have learned not to venture too close to the source of the heat and I don’t dry clothes too late at night.

I use a 20 ft leash just in case he sees a cat in his neighborhood. To say he doesn’t like cats would be an understatement. I used to be able to catch him, but now I think he could outrun a bullet. We play a game of tag, (his second favorite thing next to snow) but my tennis shoes prove to be a hindrance as he runs circles around me. Just like a little kid he prances around, even ducking his head as he runs to fill his mouth with fresh snow. I chase him around a bit and let him burn off some energy, before I shovel the sidewalk and make a path to the car that looks like a big marshmallow.

After the short work out, I take the puppy on a walk around the block. The half foot of snow makes it hard to go much further. I’m sure he’d like to stay out longer, but it’s a little chilly and it looks like we might be getting another stint of freezing rain. The perfect time to start another movie I think . . . . . and some hot chocolate.

Nippsicles

It’s a thousand degrees below zero today (okay not exactly, but frigidly close,) and apparently I felt as though a t-shirt and scarf would suffice in confronting the elements while I warmed up the car this morning. As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by an unforgiving arctic blast of chilly wintry air, freezing my golden brown nipples on contact. Instant nippsicles. It’s windy AND freezing. Two things that singularly can be managed, but together, form an unrelenting blizzard of icy polar wind instantly freezing all exposed flesh, including poorly protected nipples (regardless of their perfect light brown hue).

I absolutely hate the cold, and now I’m pissy. Not a good start to my day. The only thing I hate more than frozen nipples (and 29 year old unregistered sex offenders posing as 12 year old boys enrolling in school to prey on children), are dentists. Dentistry, as you may know, happens to be the profession with the highest suicide rate (it’s statistically suspected anyway). Mine was not elated when I told him this. Even though I’m not going to the dentist today, (unfortunately I do think he is still alive), I am still stuck with the numbing dilemma of my frozen teats. If men can have such things.

Give me hurricanes . . . .

It finally snowed, albeit just a few measly inches. Amazingly, it was this year’s first snowfall (ozone depletion anyone?). Even though I am from the tropics, I actually like the snow. It’s the dumb asses that can’t drive in it that piss me off. Oh, and those other crazies deserve honorable mention as well. You know, the ones that on the first sight of a snowflake rush to the grocery store and buy enough canned food to feed the entire Mid Atlantic. You'll be lucky to find any toilet paper either. How much do you think you'll have to wipe your ass in a time of crisis? I wonder how that thought process works . . . . . Oh my God, it's snowing! Wow, it hasn't done that in a while, it's very pretty . . . It seems to be sticking. Oh shit, we could get snowed in! There will be accidents, chaos, destruction! The end of the . . . . I should get supplies . . . what should I . . . toilet paper! I NEED TOILET PAPER!!! Weirdos.


Unfortunately however, when it snows in a bustling metropolis, ice, mud, slush, and salt inevitably follow. What’s worse is when the snow is followed by a glaciating encore of freezing rain coating everything like the thick icing on a Krispy Kreme donut. (Mmmmm, donuts). For those naive to exactly what freezing rain is, I shall explain. (You’re on your own with the donuts). It’s ingenious really. Basically, its falling snow high in the atmosphere that hits warm air during its decent melting into rain, then it freezes when coming in contact with sub zero temperatures again. It usually freezes on contact and because it’s now a liquid, it conforms to whatever it sticks to. It causes major power outages by making power lines too heavy for the poles to sustain their weight. Plants and tree branches break, windshield wipers and car doors become glued, and roads become covered in a transparent layer of slippery death ice. (More commonly known as black ice). Lovely. This is exactly what fell last night, mixing with the day’s earlier accumulation of snow, creating a winter wonderland of booby traps, icy pitfalls, and slippery slopes of death. I can’t wait to drive in it later. I’m giddy.

Days Like These . . . .

Ah yes, another dreary and gloomy day. The sky is gray with a buoyant fog veiling the trees like a light winter scarf. The wind is still and the ground is dark and wet. It drank its' full from the constant drizzle that fell long through the night. A light sprinkle still falls as if the rain is undecided. Birds do not sing today and the Sun seems to be sleeping in a little (as did I.) Unlike most, I really enjoy days like these, particularly when they come in the winter. It almost always means that it won't be as cold, or as windy. Days like these are essentially perfect for hot cocoa, movies, warm blankets, and a steady fire. That is of course, if you can afford to stay home. None of the aforementioned activities requires one to actually go outside. And why would you want to really? I feel the same way after a heavy snowfall. Do I really have to go out there? I mean everything looks so perfectly covered in white as if someone meticulously placed each flake of snow (and in a way, someone did.) It would be some sort of a crime, I'm sure, to disrupt nature by shoveling all it's hard work into heaping piles, (almost like a parent throwing away their child's science project,) and leaving muddy footprints along a flawless canvas of white. Well, today there is no snow to shovel. No ice to scrape. No baking soda exploding volcanoes to throw away. It's just wet. Foggy, cold, and wet. It's off to work then. I wrap my thick scarf; my eldest sister crocheted for me a few winters ago, around my neck and put on my coat. I inhale deeply as I step out into the cold morning air and walk towards my car as my foot steps leave their trodden marks on the soggy earth. I smile mischievously to myself thinking of how I'll save that sick-day for when the snow does come. It's in this moment I realize that days like these aren't so bad after all.