Seven AM rowdy bird screams reverb in the oppressive heat
Blasting unknown calls as others sing secret lyrics.
The chaotic symphony infuses my morning with calm.
Serenity amid the clatter.
The definition of contradiction.
I dry my seat from overnight dew as
A shaky speckled fawn sniffs
around the edges of the patio below.
Her saddle a constellation of white dots.
White tail flicking intermittently some
unseen fly as she moves out of my
Coffee spot gaze.
On this other new dawn the weather is cooler. Relief.
The mother stands in the mulch
Just beyond the pool deck munching grass.
Yesterday’s fawn bounds toward her mom.
Baby’s head under belly tilts, grasping teat,
Sucking hard as her baby tail wags at warp speed.
Rhythmically lifting front hoof in time or excitement,
Like any joyful baby thrilling at mama connection.
They were everywhere that cloudy evening
Gasping dusk beauty in every direction
Straight up vertical geyser sprays
Interspersed with barnacle covered
Dripping wet tails gracefully curved
Before the perfect Greg Louganis dive
Sucking a churning watery sink hole
Disappearing black with random white spots
Nature’s quiet clear reminder that even
Quintessential beauty is blemished
Crack of dawn
Ramon with pork and egg
Cursed Child (Part 1)
Albus & Scorpius
Friendship & love
Hermione & Ron
Calamari & Eggplant Parmesan
Cursed Child (Part 2)
Death Eaters & Dementors
Baby Harry’s Pram
Fathers & Sons
Hot Fudge Sundaes
“…and for fuck’s sake, Congress, please impeach that lunatic” said her sign.
“I love your sign” I called to her. She inched closer.
“But Pence is worse” said another woman standing nearby in the crowd.
3 strangers. Middle aged women. Now temporary friends. A Pence vs Trump debate ensued.
“But these kids. Amazing. I can’t stop crying.” Said the sign woman. On that we all agreed. Unequivocally. Unanimously. Whole-heartedly. With Hope.
March For Our Lives
The parents wearing matching orange shirts with “Enough” blazing across their chests danced to the blasting music (was it Michael Jackson?) in the middle of a crowd of nearly a million people (maybe more) while their preteen daughter with braces and her own matching orange shirt averted her eyes. She pretended to be invisible.
“Yes, we are your parents” the mom said, hugging her daughter while still dancing. The daughter’s crimson face was an embarrassment gauge.
“They are actually really cool” I whispered to the girl. “You’ll know that later.” She looked away. What do I know.