I like being up and about early in the morning. There aren’t many people around as I walk the neighborhood. I see a guy weeding his garden and a woman walking her dog. That guy over there is playing musical cars. If you’ve ever had a long, narrow driveway, you’ve probably played this game. One or two cars must go out on the street so that the innermost car, which inevitably must leave first, can get out of the driveway. Then, depending on the valet’s level of conscientiousness or the local parking ordinances, the other cars may or may not go back in. It’s a lot of fun, particularly in snow storms.
I’m happy to have this time alone with my thoughts. They roll around like a tumble weed in that vast empty space up there, occasionally catching themselves on something pertinent, like meal plans, before rolling away again as I imagine myself on a stage with a guitar performing the Charlotte Kendrick song playing on my Pandora station. I’m so good, y’all, you should come hear me play sometime. I’m here every day at the open mic night in my head, singing all the old songs and a few new ones.
The thought tumbleweed catches on my to-do list and I make a mental note to wash towels later, and buy rice for dinner, just before it occurs to me that this is the perfect time to practice walking confidently, and so I do stride along for awhile, arms swinging lightly, and think about getting a “Sons of Anarchy” tattoo somewhere hidden, just a very small skull, perhaps. I pass a yellow lab sitting complacently in a driveway, watching me watch him, as I pass by. Is it a little creepy that he doesn’t bark or even cock his head? Is he a mute dog? Can dogs be mute? Can you really train a dog not to bark at strangers walking by on the street? Wait…did that really even happen, did I really see a dog? Maybe it was a statue of a dog. I add “have eyes examined” to my mental to do list.
I’m walking past the twins’ house now. Two sets of twins live in that house. And the mother of the twins has a sister who also birthed two sets of twins. It’s a pretty big house. I wanted to have twins-two babies for the price of one labor-but I missed out on that sale. I paid full labor for each of my four.
I watch as a smallish bird swoops down on an even smaller bird, its little wings spread to ride the wind. From behind, in its purposeful, silent glide, it embodies the persona of an owl. I wonder if, like me, a rock star in my own mind, the bird imagines itself as an owl, deadly, talons spread wide, ready to grasp the unsuspecting prey below. Ka-Boom, gotcha, hahahaha. The smaller bird, the prey, throws his wings over his head, God blast it, you psycho, why you gotta sneak up on me all the time like that. I hate that!
Ah morning, with all its promise and delusions of grandeur; there’s nothing like it, is there?