I'm here to write some crap. I just said goodnight to Mike.
"Go write, hon," he said. "You'll feel better."
He's right, you know. When I sit down with nothing to say, I feel better when I'm done. And sometimes I actually come up with something decent to tell you. Don't expect that today. Nope.
I stood in dog water today. Sounds, gross, doesn't it? It wasn't. Marymoor has a dog park that runs along side the Sammamish slough. I stood knee deep in clear water while dogs swam around me and stood and shook water onto my shoulders. The slough has been reconfigured in the past years so that it runs clean, more like a river than a canal. It's actually lovely, with herons standing knee deep, fishing, dogs leaping chest first into the water after balls and frisbees and retriever toys, rowing teams working together to add style to the view.
And don't forget the heronry. Right now, the baby herons are big and noisy, demanding more and more from their mothers. Are the heron moms tired? Do the dads help? You can see that I know little about these prehistoric birds except the joy of their head movements when they're about dive for a fish. They're patient fishers, standing, silent, focused. But how do they feed two or three big baby birds and stay so patient? I'll never understand.
Don't they ever get frustrated with the little squawkers? Do they ever stand waiting for dinner to be ready and say, "Fuck it. I can't do this. Can't someone to get up off his butt to help me?"
No. They just feed and feed and feed their big babies until they're done needing to be fed.
So why can't I do that? My squab is big and demanding and isn't even close to fledging. It's impossible to feed him properly and he makes huge messes when I'm not there to threaten to turn the TV off if he doesn't clean up after himself. So, why don't I get to stand silently in the water while someone else listens to the racket? Have you ever been under a heronry in June? It's as loud as a construction site and there's bird shit all over the leaves below the nests.
These kids don't clean up after themselves either.
I do feel better.
Thank you for listening, jules
"Go write, hon," he said. "You'll feel better."
He's right, you know. When I sit down with nothing to say, I feel better when I'm done. And sometimes I actually come up with something decent to tell you. Don't expect that today. Nope.
I stood in dog water today. Sounds, gross, doesn't it? It wasn't. Marymoor has a dog park that runs along side the Sammamish slough. I stood knee deep in clear water while dogs swam around me and stood and shook water onto my shoulders. The slough has been reconfigured in the past years so that it runs clean, more like a river than a canal. It's actually lovely, with herons standing knee deep, fishing, dogs leaping chest first into the water after balls and frisbees and retriever toys, rowing teams working together to add style to the view.
And don't forget the heronry. Right now, the baby herons are big and noisy, demanding more and more from their mothers. Are the heron moms tired? Do the dads help? You can see that I know little about these prehistoric birds except the joy of their head movements when they're about dive for a fish. They're patient fishers, standing, silent, focused. But how do they feed two or three big baby birds and stay so patient? I'll never understand.
Don't they ever get frustrated with the little squawkers? Do they ever stand waiting for dinner to be ready and say, "Fuck it. I can't do this. Can't someone to get up off his butt to help me?"
No. They just feed and feed and feed their big babies until they're done needing to be fed.
So why can't I do that? My squab is big and demanding and isn't even close to fledging. It's impossible to feed him properly and he makes huge messes when I'm not there to threaten to turn the TV off if he doesn't clean up after himself. So, why don't I get to stand silently in the water while someone else listens to the racket? Have you ever been under a heronry in June? It's as loud as a construction site and there's bird shit all over the leaves below the nests.
These kids don't clean up after themselves either.
I do feel better.
Thank you for listening, jules
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