Quotidian Elegy


Blue jay 002

It is a beautiful Saturday morning here in the sprawling megalopolis of Dallas.  The sun is shining brightly.   The breeze-less air seems nonetheless alive, like a mobile over a baby’s crib, seeming to move, even if it is not.

What greenery I can see through the windows of my house is made softly brilliant by the sun and has taken on the appearance of a watercolor painting. It is an alternately detailed and yet haphazard painting, with broad strokes of carelessness, with patches of incongruous minutia.

I can hear birds twittering and squawking and fussing outside.  A squirrel is barking at a crow, warning it to move along.  The crow, for his part, is oblivious (as crows often are).  Blue jays screech like pterodactyls, also a little perturbed at the crow … or the squirrel … or something.  Blue jays seem to always be angry about something.

Meanwhile a cardinal peeps nearby, patiently and impotently waiting for the show to be over so he can flit in a flash of vermilion amidst the speckled yellow of obstinate dandelions, over to the suet snack bar for an unquiet nibble.

Mourning doves coo serenely as if discussing the passing of someone, not recently, but a ways back in their memory, as if just reminded of someone they used to know quite well, and are overcome with pangs of missing them now.  They make sadly hopeful little sounds, not quite mournful, but neither particularly joyful.  Nervously optimistic, not wanting to jinx anything by sounding too happy.

The sounds of mankind are mercifully absent.  Neither plane nor leaf blower, nor car nor mower, taint this under-glass little terrarium, this bubble of involuntary cowering.

Everything is as it always was, only spoilt by the words of man, the silent blare of Gabriel’s horn that no one can hear, but all can feel.



          • I will make this my last comment in this thread so as not to take too much of your time. Now, I am a Pole living in Great Britain, and the British are known for their sense of humour, but I have NEVER read any book which would equal your writing (I’ve read more than one – I’m 67!). Not only is your wit absolutely sparking and your writing technique masterly, but you come across as a lovely, warm and compassionate human being – what’s not to adore? You must have lots of literary agents in the USA (we do in Britain), and if you approached them with you divine Alistair and Alexis series or, indeed, anything else you’ve penned, how could at least some of them not appreciate your great talent? Impossible!

            Liked by 1 person

            • Hi Anna. I have been trying for 2 days to think of how to reply to your amazing and generous comment and I simply can’t think of anything. Anything I could say wouldn’t be adequate. All I can say is that I am so very grateful to you for your compliments and that they mean more to me than I can possibly say.

              And I will definitely give some thought to looking for an agent. Maybe I will catch one when they are in a moment of weakness and need to make their quota for the month. 😀

              Thank you again! *hugs!*

              Liked by 1 person

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