I go for a walk.
“Stranded, on my own“…sings the singer of her song on the radio. Sunny and cheerful this morning, walking in the sleepy hollow of the day. Pick of the Litter is a sticker with stars and a WOW. Runner-up is a folded card: Esta Es Para MEXICO.
On the way over, witnessed the scurry of a squirrel, running beneath the undercarriage of a moving vehicle. Pleased to report both survived the intersection of travel routes, while I held my breath.
Last night watched Adaptation., in which the angst-ridden zen of the first part was tossed, screwed, snorted and shot up by the negative affirmative action in the second. The writers’ Kaufman self-talk is hilarious and right on the money. Alice the waitress is to die for and the Streep-Cooper Museum of Par Excellence established in an epiphytic setting and open for business. Cage is no slouch.
Right now I feel like I am in the film Apocalypse Now. Apostrophe Huyett. Change or else. Adapt or die. Have you seen a ghost?
On the warpath this morning: a blue jay feather and a plump Blue Jay and the hand drawn items: a peace sign, a giant feather or leaf? and the numeral 2 with a line above it.
Under the covered bridge is the broken wing on the bird. “What are you doing?” coos an innocent in the no-fly zone.
As I am about to give up on spotting a heron, one calls. A man lounges in an unfolded folding aluminum beach chair, watching a heron that is wading, drinking and, in turn, watching him.