Every so often, far less than desired, I'll have a good solid night's sleep. The sort of sleep that waking from requires concerted effort. Last nights came close. Still, the morning sun's annual habit of rising earlier and earlier each day inspires my parallel behavior. I have routinely gone on record here as loving it, which I sincerely do, yet every so often it's a bit much. Such was this morning's case. Also, I am nearing 64. I should know better at my age not to walk outside in bare feet, yet I do so more often than not when taking the dogs out in the morning. As I stepped out this morning with scottie tucked under my right arm, something sharp and miniscule came under foot, briefly, before breakin the surface of my skin and embedding itself directly into an overly sensitive nerve. Holding the dog prevented me from hopping about and squealing like a stuck pig, so I limped instead, avoiding putting any pressure upon this painful point, until they were fed and back with Jen. Then, the dig commenced. I often reflect, when faced with a strategically placed sliver, an ingrown toenail or a puss filled pimple that surfaces right at the intersection of my lip and moustache line, on how hollywood's superheroes such as John McClain or Rambo can manage to run barefoot across broken glass or stitch open wounds with tree sap and a pine-needle, barely half way through the movie, without the slightest wince. Post-op, back on the patio in a pair of thick soled slippers, I glanced towards the round metal table outside our bedroom window, attracted by peripheral motion. I had placed a birds nest on that spot a few months ago, one I had found on the ground below the mulberry tree some six or more months prior. Perhaps as long as a year. I have set it out at various spots since first finding it, yet it kept blowing across the yard whenever the winds rose enough to do so. This latest placement included finding and including the most "egg- like" rock I could find amongst those placed about the french drain. It has held the nest in place until this morning, rather artistically, when a force far more focused and determined than a passing breeze saw fit to dismantle it. The motion that caught my attention was a small sparrow, aparently a "dark eyed Junco", it's beak filled with bits and pieces of twigs and strands of the nest as if harvested them for it's own summer home. Have at it. It'll circle back around, I am sure.
