A Healthy Dose of Skepticism Is What We Need.

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The ad popped up in a search. Bottled impulse control. There it was, an amazing new drug that claimed to be the cure for the closet shopaholic. Impulse control. Another way of saying, “Caveat emptor,” for those who don’t know Latin.

A pill. I was skeptical. But the hype that accompanied the pill convinced me. “Do you believe everything you hear in this world of make-believe? Then this is the pill for you. Sales resistance in a bottle. Just 20 dollars will save you hundreds in foolish purchases.”

I put it in my cart. I hovered over “Buy.” I clicked.

Free as a Dog

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The warm weather brought out the dogs. They roamed without leashes. They found each other and played, the poodles and the labs and the scrappy mutts. Their people strolled along the tree-lined streets, digging in their pockets for treats. 

A kind of amnesia had made them all forget to whom they belonged. They started fresh in a world where it’s not dog-eat-dog. Utopia. And then, the oddest thing happened. The universe snapped its fingers. The dogs and people sorted themselves out. Back to the way things were. The sense of bonhomie, a vague impression that lingered as a subliminal image.

The Shape of Summer

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The longest day of the year starts like many others,
Warmth, wind, light through the window. 

Mind quiet, there's one image from a dream.
One tree rooting, spreading, rippling in a half grown field. 
You must tend that field

Because it’s summer.

Solstice, not spring and fall equinox, bookends for the growing season. 
Not the fallow darkness of winter.
Summer, the middle months where the year’s threads weave together, still taking shape.
The place where imagination has taken you, but not yet left you.
The summer when there is light and warmth and life is a petri dish for productivity.

Clancy Hits It Home

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Clancy struck out for the third time. He was distraught. The love of his life had left with the ballboy that morning. He hadn’t seen it coming. Like that ball he’d missed by just a hair.

“A hair,” his coach said. “More like a country mile. Go get your eyes examined.”

Clancy made an appointment. The optometrist told him that with his vision it was a miracle  he’d ever hit a ball. She also made the observation that his girlfriend needed glasses. And she said yes when he asked her out for dinner. He only hit home runs after that.

The Oddest Things Happen When Mrs. Potts Takes a Walk.

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Trees gather like a fairy ring around a fallen trunk.
Elephants gather to mourn their dead.
They trumpet the loss.
They stay for long enough that the sky
Turns color on multiple days.

Mrs. Potts changes the color 
Of her dress from brown to blue to black.
She walks the neighborhood
To distract herself. She nods hello.
She makes everyone feel safe.

Mrs. Potts firmly says, “I do not believe in fairies.
Elves, yes.” Elves clean her kitchen at night.
They almost never sleep.
Like Mrs. Potts herself, they are creatures of habit.
They gather by fallen trees, like elephants.

A Tree Shining on the Hill

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“This tree will be removed due to oak root fungus. Direct comments to…” Unprepared, for the posted notice, her heart stopped.

After Dave passed on, she’d sat under the canopy of the live oak, its small stiff leaves immune to drought. Their tree, his, hers. She watched chickadees play.  So much time had elapsed since they first met on that hill.

The tree stayed the same. It had reached maturity, or maybe it was so large that a few inches of growth didn’t register. Timeless, it had seemed destined to watch over the bay for all eternity. Nothing lasts forever.

The Escape Artist

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Tabby’s cage at the shelter was comfortably furnished. People were nice to her, but she wanted her freedom. One of your more adventurous cats, her motto was:  “Risks are for the taking.” She prowled through the catio looking for a way out.

She eyed the perimeter. From an adjacent field, the scent of fresh mice and catnip tempted her. She wiggled her butt and leapt to the top of a rug-covered cat tower. From there, she spied a hole at the top of the enclosure. No one was around. She scaled the six foot wire wall and made her escape.

Raven Prince

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Once there was a wicked prince, so wicked he stank. No maiden would have him.

He mounted his horse and set out to find a wife.

On the road, a raven flew above his head. He threw rocks and when they hit the bird, the prince felt pain. He felt the same pain on seeing a crowd of beggars. A parched child moved him to give her water.

It was a cleansing experience. The raven spoke. “Follow me.”

The prince crossed the kingdom, sweating beside laborers, sweeping streets, felling trees. He smelled of productive work and lived a happy life.

A(u)nt Queens

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The bread was fresh and I was terrifically hungry, so I helped myself. 

My aunt scolded me. “Crumbs, you left crumbs. The ants found them and carried them in a line through the kitchen. They’re back for the sugar.”

I cleaned the floor where the ants had left a trail. She scolded me. “I’m getting fond of them. They have personalities. See that large one.”

”That’s the Queen.” 

“Where’s her crown?” 

“It’s her size.” 

My aunt, a large woman, pondered this. “We have that in common.”

They also love bread.

They are fast friends now, my aunt and the Ant Queen.

The Nose Knows

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“Top o’ the day.” A man in a tam’o shanter, blue and green plaid, black and white lines for definition, greeted the butcher, who stood behind his product, a case of meat, bones and all.  The man’s Scottie wore boots, four of them, leather zipped on the side. A dog was welcome as long as he behaved. This one did. 

The Scottie was there to sniff for bombs. He walked the length of the shop, then froze.

“Everyone out!”

The butcher grabbed bones for the dog, leapt from behind the counter. Scottie gnawed while the bomb squad did its job.