Plums

There’s a plum tree near by, full of delicious plums, not the tasteless crap you buy at the market, but ruby red juicy plums that have three hundred and sixty-five days of beauty in them. There are so many plums, I can’t pick them fast enough. I’ve picked four or five sacks full so far and gave away most of them. The tree is a giver, but there have been casualties. The casualties drop to the ground and the birds don’t even want them then. It breaks my heart when they fall to the ground. They’re so tasty I want people to enjoy them.

            I’ve realized that the birds get angry when I’m outside picking the plums. They’re territorial. You wouldn’t think it, but they are. I can hear them tweeting, and communicating. They become more active. I get the impression that they think I’m going to pick all the plums, and not leave them any.

The birds have waited just as long as I have for the plums. They’ve been out in the rain, in the cold, in the wind, the heat. The least I can do is leave them some.  

Just Keeping Her Warm For Johnny

I took care of business today. I got The Mundane Blues back from mastering, and I up loaded it to Bandcamp. It will be available soon. I’m also putting a book of poetry together. It’s called, Just Keeping Her Warm For Johnny. That will also be available soon. I’m trying to get the formatting right for the Kindle version. We’re talking fair prices here.

I was in Indesign purgatory for the greater part of the day. Sometimes that program snaps out, and the next thing I know, I’m trouble shooting a problem on the internet. It took half the day to get things right.

I have a new friend. It’s a skunk. He came around they other night, and was raising a ruckus. He was outside my door. I opened the door to see what the fuss was about. It was a skunk licking water from a pale. He didn’t bother to turn around. I smelled a faint skunk smell but it wasn’t too bad. I don’t know if skunks have poor vision, or if they’re bred indifferent, or if it’s because of their potent weapon, but I’ve noticed that skunks don’t care.  

Omen or Coincidence

I took a walk through the hills. I planed it in such a way where it was mostly down hill. Why strain herself?

There weren’t many people around. It was just me and the occasional barking dog, that went bonkers when I approached. Dogs are interesting that way. I wonder what they're thinking. Do they really want to do harm, or are they bluffing because they’re behind a fence. I’m not sure. I don’t want to test the theory. I was just wondering.

            I was walking along, when I noticed an older woman with a water hose in her hand. She was washing down the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell what she was washing, nor was I all that interested. The only thing I could tell for sure was that the lady was hunched around the shoulders. I tried not to look at her as I neared. It was a nice day. I was looking at the trees and houses, and feeling a little awkward as approached the woman. She was busy. She didn’t see me coming. She looked intense from a distance.

            I was walking along when out of nowhere I heard a hollow thud sound. I looked to see what it was, and it was a bird, a black bird of some kind laying flat on his back. Dead. It had dropped from the sky, and it landed on a driveway between the old woman and myself. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bird just dropped dead right in front of me. I was instantly frightened. The bird’s legs were sticking straight up in the air. It was terrible. I kept walking. I didn’t want anything to do with the bird. I thought perhaps it was a bad omen. When I walked past the old lady she looked at me with the most  horrible of faces. She was hunched over. She reminded me of a peasant lady from the old country. She had cold, steely brown eyes, and when she looked at me, it was as if she wanted murder me right there and then. I’d never felt such terrible energy in my life. Can you kill a bird with bad energy? I kept walking. When I was some distance away I looked back at the lady, and wondered what it was all about? 

June Gloom

            I woke up to the sound of the coffee maker brewing coffee. I like to set things up the night before so all I have to do is roll out of bed and pour. It’s taken me years to find the courage to program the coffee maker. It seemed like a daunting task. But once I got in there and took the time to figure it out it wasn’t all that bad. Now my mornings are perfect. It doesn’t take much.

            It’s June Gloom here in Los Angeles, oddly enough, it happens every June where the marine layer takes hold and the mornings are cloudy. I like it. It’s nice and moody. Some people complain about it. I’m not sure why. It happens once a year. It’s fairly predictable, it’s not ugly, it’s just different. Angelinos are like that. If there’s any change in the weather, a few degrees here, a few degrees there, they start to whine. It's the Beverly Hills in them. If it rains, well, it’s the end of the world, and if it warms up, they’ll complain about that too. If the Santana winds come blowing in from the desert, some people will find a way to moan about it. It doesn’t make sense to complain about the weather in Los Angeles. It’s not humid, it’s dry, it’s not cold, it’s California cold. And when it’s warm, well hell, it’s the desert. It much easier to complain about the people, who complain about the weather. It’s June, and the gloom is where it's suppose to be.