ss1

Tales of Solitude pt2
2002-12-06 - 9:30 p.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

 Tales of Solitude

part 2:  Grand Central Station

A fat grey squirrel stole birdseed this afternoon as I lovingly stroked my twelve string.

 I went from benign indifference to believing that the birdseed was for the hummingbirds, which it was.

Crooked bastard kept slipping, and almost falling off.  He then tried to bite the feeder down so he could loot it safely on the ground.

 Greedy fucker.

I scared him off with admonitions to shoo.  The hummingbirds moved in and feasted safely.  I kept an eye out while I played, seeing some daring souls move out to the middle of the ice to do some ice fishing on the pristine unmarked sheet of ice. 

 I got out the binoculars, and to my shame, I peeped on them.  Didn�t last long.  The only thing less exciting than ice fishing must be watching someone ice fish.

 I suppose its just a craving for some attention or interaction that I really cannot fulfill.  Which is partly the reason I am in this too-short period of solitude.

 I prefer my solace and rewards to be intrinsic.

But, man, with the squirrel, the hummingbirds, and the two dorks on the ice, it was like Grand Central Station.

 


a template by wicked design

about comment designer archive archives newest diaryland

tml>