Pressure Sensitive


   This is the yellow brick road! An autosuggest button presses me on to survey the path along the creek. I want to prepare for journeys well into the future.

   No quasi-mobile healing stage prevents me from playing my part. I will adapt to the role of Chief Path Inspector. I plan to get over this hump.

    Before I get there, Mike & Mike on ESPN radio segue FROM: notes on Tiger Woods’ discomfiture during his announcement Friday TO: comment on their late night television guest experiences.

   Greenberg, in relating various barometers of social nerves: speaking in public, speaking in public about infidelity, going to a job interview, getting married, says, until you are in that situation, you just don’t know. His first reponse to being on the David Letterman show was thinking the host was asking “What are you doing here?”

   I have arrived.

   I have done this.

   I want to do this.

   This thing, I do.

   Look at me.

   Hi Mom! Hi Dad!

   I have arrived at the park, where an unseen hand manipulates the Kubota tractor and its moveable parts, scooping snow into the front end loader and depositing it over the steep bank, into the creek. The two split rails in one section of the fence are removed to facilitate the process.   

   The Wizard of Oz sits at the controls; I walk behind man and machine. The lower rail in a section behind the Kubota is broken like a toothpick, the tips of the rail rest in the post openings , the middle is snapped. I’m not saying there’s a connection, I’m just sayin’. I have a report to file. There is a path I must take. I get down to business and come back.

    The Wizard of Oz shuts off the tractor and opens the door. It is Scott.

   “Short walk!” he says. “How is the trail?”

    The bridge is clear of snow. Two to three inches packed snow cover the walking path. Traction is good, thanks to drizzle and flurries last night and this morning. Sound is soft crunchy. Visibility is normal. Distance travelled: parking lot to five marker, estimated two furlongs. Signed, Chief Path Inspector.”

  I answer his question and ask about his task.

   “What are you doing here?”

    His current chore is both immediate and long-range in its implications. It occupies him for today; it clears space in case of another weather event. Local moonshine prognosticator Leroy Moyer divines the Mother Storm is coming March 7, sources close to my inspection say. Media forecasts call for snow Thursday or Friday. The park crew is banking on the possiblity of both scenarios.

   SPOTTED: No herons, just an indigo, blue and purple piece of pressure sensitive recording paper, the underbelly of a six-thousand and eight dollar payment by check. That makes pick of the litter, that makes me rich! I got to see the Wizard. It was by the side of the yellow brick road.

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