Not Much to Say

I’ve had some time off this weekend, to give myself an opportunity to de-stress, rest up, and get prepared for the busy months ahead, and to work on a couple of essays I’ve started.

I haven’t done any of that. My time’s been spent cycling through my bookmarks of news sites and blogs and sitting outside in the sun reading The End of Faith and The Geese of Beaver Bog.

I’ve been too distracted and restless to do much else. My jotted-down topics for lighthearted blog posts - a dream in which I was bald, a rant against drivers who don’t pull up far enough to let the car behind them reach the drive-thru window, my nominations for worst copy writing ever - seem woefully inappropriate. Anything I have to say about the Gulf Coast reduced to a third world country, or our preznit set to repeal the entire 20th century once he shoves his Supreme Court nominations through, is already being said, and said better, on other blogs. I really have nothing new to add. I’d just be another toad in the the chorus.

So I’ve procrastinated, and now I’ve got to do all my reading for class and everything else today. Someday I’ll get around to renewing my membership in the Two-Headed Turtle Society.

I’m not even back at work yet, and I’m already looking forward to my next break, the fall Point Pelee birding/camping trip. Actually, there was quite a lot of bird chatter this morning. With the air conditioning finally off and the windows open, the morning discourse is audible once more. A Carolina wren sang loudly while his mate churred back to him. Goldfinches burbled and the merry band of resident chickadees (who have already made short work of the sunflower in the garden) called incessantly. Earlier the bluejays noisily faced off with a squirrel; now they’re making their squeaky hinge calls. Some geese flew over, honking. I think I heard sandhill cranes croaking in the distance. But then again, sometimes I want to hear cranes so badly that I think I occasionally hallucinate them.