Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
The gray squirrel and mourning dove lollygagging below our bird feeder found the gumption to disappear when they heard me turning the front-door handle.
With the drippy overcast morning, the racket of robins came from lawns and trees both; and the cooing of mourning doves was thick as the air itself.
An old man adjusted the bricks at the veteran's memorial by the small ballfield.
``Got enough rain?'' he asked.
For some reason, probably because of Memorial Day, I was struck by inanity of the remark from a man helping to celebrate those who served our country.
But the more I considered it, the more I came to think the inanities of daily existence are what grease our lives. Such inanities are what make discussions or considerations possible of why we are as a country are so focused on war.
Probably because I was so focused on those thoughts, I never noticed any trilling of red-winged blackbirds around the north old clay pit. And there were no Canada geese, despite the fact that there are dozens on adults and goslings on both pits this time of the year.
Then two adults came out honking on the far northwest corner of the north pit. But no others.
Two mallards quacked and flew off the south pit.
The honeysuckle continues in that over-ripe, over-white phase right before turning brown, an inevitable cycle of natural life.
In many ways, my morning rambles are one of those inanities greasing daily life.
The hoarse call of a Eurasian collared-dove came at the alley before home.
Later this morning while the youngest two participate as Scouts at the Memorial Day service at their grade school, my wife and I will do a wild flower hike with a favorite naturalist, if the weather holds.