Magpie and Pine

I know the gulch keeps us divided, or not so much divided as apart, though before noon you are as good as me, in fact you are me. Well now it seems a psychosis is getting cozy; cozy in being plus this elongation, if we know what is meant. I know the reflection is designed for flattery and falling for flattery tempts slipping into the slippery slide straight into a chapter or season of sin; bucket set in patient wait; and not just any sin but the sin that makes a proud face take up the glow the common folk see as shameful pink. Maybe not quite pinko pink but pink enough to earn a one way slink to the port of exit into a world of acrid grit. Whoever is wounded can forget lemon spritz or aloe balm.

Your version of me looks like a future me after six if not twelve months hiking up and down these rugged hills. No wonder you can in that chill posture recline; and damn the stones whose edges inspire wonderment whether they might be ancient arrowheads; and the prickly pear lacks all that jab. Oh and your slimmer version of an alternate me, well, from the plain below, so I've heard, your silhouette, its darkness against the sun-bathed ground, well, I know no polite route to take in passing along observations related to the potential to interpret it as frankly on the somewhat obscene side of what social protocol deems obscene or not obscene.

The true savior in this case is knowledge. Knowledge eaten reminds the off-kilter psyche: even if you were not illusion; even if the cool of your shadow-work exist like this post-bagel, piping coffee, contact via broken barrier will never be. Not a bitter fruit at all. Don't see the big deal. Chasten, yes, yes, chasten the day away.

Nothing else do I know, claim to know, or care to know, thank you very much.

Were I not rooted I could join in the joy jumping brought to us by warmth coaxing out buttercups where snow pervaded this time last year. Yet I speculate breathing beings will know no thirst so severe when ant mandibles devour the fallen moth. I do not know I should shed these needles that ages ago took up the challenge of role-playing cautionary coaches, but the proposal will not meet stalwart denial. What else is the heart full of pent up sap to do? Dare I hammer on in fluent groan how old I can't believe I am? Relax. The policy of sublimation is firm. The bystander may sleep sound. Unless the snore of the bystander annoys the herd of wildlife.

"Birds in a flock don't count?"

"Oh it's you."

"How do you know it isn't you?"

"Eavesdropping?"

"What do you expect from a magpie?"

"Now all the magpies know my musings."

"Not yet."

"You of all forms having sentience would know when I said Herd of wildlife, it was just the most convenient word; yes I know what a flock is; except sheep or goats can be a herd or flock."

"Flock was inconvenient?"

Now that you've faded for the day, it is only I alone against magpie poking prodding wit.

"You have yolk on your beak."

"Chickens. Laying again. Easy pickings."

"Great. Wipe it on my arm."

"You're welcome."

Sigh. Magpie gone. My slim and somewhat obscene shadow has faded. Day is pacing. About an hour til clock-out. Still I have a couple hundred more words to fill the randomly generated number.

I worry about my neighbor. Standing down there all these years, all alone, but not lonely, perfect view of the river, never bothering others. Self-planted in that spot long before the road, distant as it is, was even paved. Empty surroundings; just a bunch of sagebrush, rocks, scrub; long brutal winters; short but vicious summers. Coyotes, wolves, bobcats, cougars, bears, antelope, elk, mule deer, white-tailed deer, all coming and going, passing by; passing away. Hawks, eagles, crows, perching, hunting, dining.

Last years bulldozers began clearing space for human housing. So far my neighbor remains standing. Still the racket; commotion; invasion; machines. Human belief in progressive dominance. I used to kind of envy my neighbor down there on the flatland. Better, clearer view; space to spread out. Now I count my blessings. Except I'm not sure how much it is a blessing having to watch, wait, wonder. No this neighbor wasn't particularly gregarious, but also never blasted music when the rest of the mountainsides were trying to sleep.

The sun will shortly set. Coyotes were out last night, sending dogs domesticated into barking fits. Cacophonous it is. I'll take cacophony of coyote and domesticated dog over bulldozer and backhoe any day.

Oh it's you again. Another egg?

"You love me walking all over you. Admit it. The earth is in a new age now. More open. You no longer have to pretend you don't love it when I wipe egg yolk on your arm. No shame in letting your sap run and your needles quiver."

Magpies.