Dreams of June

hammock

I celebrated June First, after a fashion, by lying in the hammock for an hour midday. It was sweet and something I rarely do anymore.

My child bride was putting final touches on pastries, then bathing and dressing in preparation for Saturday’s bake sale out of her basket on the plaza.

The Kindle slowly slid from my fingers, and fell to my chest.

* * * *

As I opened the glass door to the shower stall, a raven flew in through the open window. Shocked, I screamed: Get out!

Why?  he shot back, shocking me even more.

Regaining a touch of composure, I asked: You can talk?

Sure, he responded. We are the brightest of birds, something even you humans know. We and pigs have high IQs, which you humans find disturbing.

That is why you associate us with death and pigs with filth. It makes you feel better about yourselves. It’s the pigpens that are dirty, not the pigs trapped inside. It’s all your fault. Set pigs free. They are our fast friends.

Forget pigs, I said. Why did you fly into my bathroom?

I saw the vapor, and I have never enjoyed a sauna. This is my chance, I told myself, so here I am, standing on your ceramic sink, the raven replied.

Stepping to the black bath mat, and toweling off, I told him: Go ahead.  And he did. He sailed down to the drain hole and stood there in the warm dwindling mist, ruffled and sighed. I sat naked on the toilet seat, watching.

The raven did not overstay his welcome. After a few moments, he flapped back out the window through which he had entered, uninvited.

* * * *

I‘m ready,  I heard my bride bellow from below. I opened my eyes, swung out of the hammock, put on my Crocs and headed downstairs. It was a beautiful first day of June. And a raven flew overhead without saying anything at all.

12 thoughts on “Dreams of June”

    1. Carole: As I dozed off, I was reading this week’s edition of National Review. Aside from that, I am reading three books simultaneously.

      1. An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser.
      2. Intellectuals and Race by the inimitable Thomas Sowell.
      3. Black Rednecks & White Liberals, also by Sowell.

      I particularly recommend that last one.

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  1. It could have been worse.

    Sing a song of sixpence,
    A pocket full of rye.
    Four and twenty blackbirds,
    Baked in a pie.

    When the pie was opened,
    The birds began to sing;
    Wasn’t that a dainty dish,
    To set before the king?

    The king was in his counting house,
    Counting out his money;
    The queen was in the parlor,
    Eating bread and honey.

    The maid was in the garden,
    Hanging out the clothes,
    When down came a blackbird
    And pecked off her nose.

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      1. Growing up in Florida, I can recall how territorial the mockingbirds could get. For sport they would capture chameleons and dispatch them by sticking them on the spikes of the century plant, which is Florida’s cousin to the agave plant here in Mexico.

        When the robins hit Florida in the winter, they would all get drunk eating fermented berries from the Brazilian pepper tree. At times, they would misbehave as bad as humans.

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