Steermanship

There is a building across the gazebo park from my window that does not fit 
our street, but I am not concerned with that. The reason it doesn't fit is that every 
other building around the square is either of Georgian or Victorian design, not 
counting the church. This building is of the seventies and is faded tan with odd 
windows. Below each window is a sunken ledge made of concrete that sticks 
out like a seat for anyone who might fall from a balloon basket.


Up on the tenth floor yesterday someone must have dumped a cake or some 
type of dish that was yellow. Early on in the morning as I wrote I saw a single 
blackbird or crow or whatever circle around for some time and then steer into 
the ledge, but not land. It just hovered and steered off and then back. It finally 
landed, looked at whatever it was I couldn't see, looked around to see if anyone 
was watching, bent its head, and snuck a piece. It flew away with a very yellow 
ball of something in its beak. From ten stories up I could still see the color of the
food. Perhaps that was why someone threw it out the window.


About an hour later, word must have spread. I heard them coming first, and then 
I saw them. At least fifty to sixty of the blackbirds ascended over the street, all 
circling around each other to see what the special treat was. To me this is 
evidence that birds and animals can speak well to each other, just not to us 
(parrots aside), and also that they have the best hovering and steermanship
capabilities. That was a lot of damn birds.


Four at a time they emerged from the circling pack and landed on the ledge to 
take bites out of the yellow surprise. As they left, four more would land, their 
wings flapping nearly incessantly, and only sometimes did that caw or jab at 
each other. They would go to a tree limb or rooftop or another ledge on 
another floor to gobble their bite and then they would fly back up to the ledge 
with the yellow surprise, and that person must have thrown out an entire meal 
or dessert because the birds all got fat as I watched.


As I just wrote that last sentence I heard a triple caw out my window, as if one 
of those birds was agreeing with me and shouting out a 'hell yeah.'


Birds apparently will eat anything.


Another bird just cawed another 'hell yeah.' Seriously. Can birds read our 
minds? ........... no caw on that one. That was spooky.

Beests

There has been a name stuck in my head for some time now. I figured 
I should write it out. 'Melittsophex Berensis'-a bee found in amber in a 
mine in northern Myanmar. In fact, the oldest bee ever found, over
100 million years old. Sounds exotic, doesn't it? Just imagine the queen 
bee yelling, 'Melittsophex, get your ass over here, I've got work for you, 
beetch!!'

Did you know that 3300 bees were sent to outer space on one of the 
space shuttle missions to see how they reacted to zero gravity? They 
adjusted immediately and built a pure and clean honeycomb hive, and 
I do say pure and clean because there is one thing in space the bees 
apparently would not do. Poop. Bees don't poop in their hives because
bees haven't come up with technology yet like indoor plumbing, so they 
keep their hives clean of poop. They poop outside. And since they
were encased in space, they were observed to have held it in for seven 
to nine days before being released into the wild to have, literally,
a poopy party.

Bees are also able to recognize patterns. Tests of human facial pictures 
were shown to bees and the one picture dabbed with sugar and honey
is the one picture they always came back to. Granted, that is just 
memory recall, but the pictures were even disheveled and still produced 
the same results, however, when the pictures were placed upside down, 
the bees became flustered, just like most humans do. The truth is that 
they do not recognize Johnny Rimbauld's face, just the pattern. Bees also 
see ultraviolet light, which humans unfortunately do not, so imagine the 
ultraviolet patterns these bees must see everyday as they flit around.

Rumors have been swirling that when the honeybee goes, so shortly 
thereafter does the human race. There are scientists who believe this 
true and some think it just a beestly hoax. Honeybees actually do
a lot more for the environment than most people in the world are 
aware, but no one knows for sure if it is their actions that have kept 
us going through this hard economic phase of life.

Did you also know that most queen bees lay roughly between 600 
and 1400 eggs... a day!!??!!??!!?? A day??  That means she is also 
laying around, if you know what I mean, wink wink. Come here little 
Melittsophex and show me what you got in your hummer!!!! Can you
dream the human female birthing 1000 times a day. A nightmare 
actually. Talk about overpopulation, and talk about pain!

Bees are a helluva commodity in our world.

Droopy Dog Says...

That Savannah is droopy and delirious and wet and marshy and constant. 

Also southern, cool, rough, gentle.

Elegant, dabble-some, made from an unknown concoction.

Playful, low-hanging, adventurous, deciduous.

Hopeful, unmarred, thirst-quenching, momentous.

Spirited, essential, delicious, lethargic in demeanor.

Echo-ish, square-ful, and non-stinky.

The Sky Has A View Of Us All

The sky in truth does, and sometimes I wish I could

see what it sees of me. It might show me an expression

of myself I only wish I knew about, one I could have

learned about when I was ten or twenty.

-A Sky Remembers How-

     (as seen in Cacoethes)

Fly high, up further,
Amid a milky sky, a dream of
Blue wings invisible.

Sky carry me on,
Wings bring near silky sly sweet
Space so divisible.

Clouds appear upon me,
Weight on my chest, I could use some rest,
Let me swirl on you cloud.

Skin cools so high,
Rain streams wash, a wind, my name,
A microburst is criminal.

Oh heavenly moments,
Did you come and go, we may never know,
It's the sky that knows how.

Nights In Savannah Are Glowing And Mysterious

Nights in Savannah are glowing and mysterious.

Ship horns call out in the dark hours as they float

the Savannah River in eerie whistling silence.

The facades of ivy-covered homes seem to

bend outward against the head-high streetlamps

cornering the squares. Federalist and Georgian

homes show great contrast next to their

Victorian and French chateau-like neighbors.

The streets are always active, with squares being

tended to by stragglers and picture-takers, and

bikers always swerving through the re-directioned

streets and around the dog-walkers. The moss

hanging from all types of trees makes the cobbled

and bricked roads seem even more desirable to walk

down and perhaps even lay upon with a blanket. Spiral

staircases abound up front porches. Chandeliers

speak out into the night through frosted windows

on every second floor. The dark walking paths of

Forsythe Park leading to the fountain seem like a

Hungarian wood journey. The cemetery around

Oglethorpe is full of old visionaries entombed

in massive above-ground brick monuments. The

mossy trees blow in the wind around them as if the

moss is the hair of their guardians. When rain comes

in, when the clouds are low and leaving their fog

behind, the districts look like separate worlds.

It is a very shaded and effective world, one so

beautiful to walk through.