Contemplations from a Warm Room
Yesterday. I saw a blackbird on the lowest branch of an older sapling. He was flirting between several branches. A handsome crow stood right below him, just moving his head and regarded the bird much smaller than he as it was moving around. Tonight. I walked down a street Five blocks away, though I’d never been on it before. A warm house had a clean porch and a rainbow drawn in childish finger paints on the window. Inside was a woman in ankle socks and a red sweatshirt changing a lightbulb, and there was no sound coming out of the house. The moment. I am now in my brown chair Mulling how sticky humid nights with a hint of dew, or relief, or odor are the right environment for the mind. The air is heavy, the atmosphere is active - yet still. It carries the live music from the clamoring restaurant, amplifies the waves of the river which is below the town with its nightlife. It is timeless, stuck in a moment and eternal yet al...