A gray fall morning, a wet walkway
A neighbor peddles trinkets on his lawn.
Swallows are leaving for warmer climes
As train horns sound their inevitable crossings.
Gloomy prospects, mournful sounds…or silence.
Moses stirs, his day begins.
Considering a soggy worm for breakfast,
His tongue flickers. He salivates
And imagines something tasty
With a hope only a Basset could conjure for a worm.
The cycle of the year is ending
Even as a new day begins
I wonder at the end of things
As I ponder a new start.
But the birds are not all gone
Chirps and tweets begin to fill the air.
The dogs awake and
Growls and barks begin to mark their movements.
The need is clear
To get up and get moving.
A new day dawns
It is Saturday morning.
Is it just me, or is there a dearth of dimples in America today? Dimples used to be everywhere. I have a bad memory, but I sort of recall having dimples myself. Once upon a time, I mean. It makes me wonder where all the dimples have gone. It makes me wish for a more dimply time.
I have a theory about our dearly departed dents. I suspect many American dimples may have succumbed to a surge of cheek fat. I’ve been staring at my cheeks some lately, and I believe that may be just my problem. I’ve gotten fat of face. I’ve gotten fat of everything else, too, for that matter. Fatness and dimples appear to be mutually exclusive. You can have one or the other, but not both.
I think I might like to try donning dimples again. Maybe I could doff a few dozen pounds and re-live my lost youth. If I start right now, eating lots of whole grains and oats, I suppose I could revive a dimple or two in time for Independence Day 2010. I could be independent of my fat!
Of course, I’d need something to smile about in order to truly appreciate the dimples. But dropping that much weight sort of appeals to me, and I’ll bet it would make me smile a real double dimpler. Wouldn’t it be great to reverse the dimple diminishing direction of America? Wouldn’t more dimples be better?
I think so. I think I’ll exercise in the morning.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I don’t know the Spanish word for lizard, but I think it should be “el lizardo.” I like the sound of it. I saw el lizardo last week in Mexico. He was small with red-jowls, which is how I like my lizards. It may be possible to embrace lizards of larger breeds, but give me a little lizard any day.
I like the way small lizards do little pushups. I don’t know why they do it, but they do. Get yourself an Iguana or a Gila Monster and see if it does calisthenics for your viewing pleasure. I hope it does, but I doubt it. A big old amphibian like that has too much weight to push up, so more often than not, they are forced to content themselves in perpetually bent-armed slumber.
In Mexico, I suppose el lizardo grande might take a siesta while resting from hauling his girth about. I didn’t witness any of that, however. Mostly, the lizards I saw were small.
My favorite lizard of all time shared my garage in Arizona. He had a ringtail that he employed to hypnotize insects so he could catch them with less trouble. I like a lizard with skills, and I regret that I smashed him with that 2 by 4. Poor Senor lizardo.
I am tempted to wish for more lizards, but I shudder at the thought of an ecosystem upset by ill considered wishing. We could be plagued by the things or maybe the bird population would sky rocket due to added food. The paint on my truck doesn’t need that! Yes, I think I’ll have to give that idea more thought before I commit. It is best to be careful what you wish for, I always say.
For now, lizard sightings remain a rare treat, which may be why I find them so interesting. I wish there was a nice little ringtail lizard here right now. I’d like to watch him do pushups.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
