Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
A gray squirrel loped down the sidewalk, but Storm dived under a gray car to flush a black and white cat.
A robin sat on the red roof of a car by the firehouse.
Two Canada geese floated, necks stretched flat out on the water of the south old clay pit.
Not sure why it felt like a morning for snapshots.
And I still don't know why the geese have been swimming like that with their necks stretched flat. I want to posit a mournful meaning to it--their nest is empty and still no goslings swim.
Robins just everywhere dotting the vivid greens of lawns and ball fields. They do seem to be enjoying this spring. Fewer mourning doves cooing than most mornings. I have no idea why.
Made sure to do the extended ramble, even though the puddles hang on, soaking my black work shoes.
The usual plethora of red-winged blackbirds trilling around the north pit.
Four American coots were on the north pit, as were two dark ducks, which I could not ID positively and they did not look like mallards.
It was the kind of morning that the lyricism of the snapshots drew me back to my mullings yesterday on Johnny Cash's ``How high is the Water Momma?''
Apparently, as I doublechecked, the name of the song is ``Five Feet High and Rising,'' according to what I see on metrolyrics.com
But what I want to bring out is the vividness of the second stanza. The chorus is the hook, but I like as a writer is his second stanza, pulled from metrolyrics.com.
Well, the hives are gone, I've lost my bees The chickens are sleepin' in the willow trees Cow's in water up past her knees Three feet high and risin'
Snapshots in words.
Two barn pigeons gathered grit at the feed mill on the edge of town.
A gray squirrel, unseen by the meathead, ran up a neighbor's bur oak. Storm chased another gray squirrel up a red maple.
The air smells like morel season out on the fringes.