Blogpost # 946   ONE MORNING IN KINGSTON

It is now, 4:30m A.M., on an August morning in Kingston, N.Y. It has long been our regular, daily practice to rise at this early hour to experience the theatrical advent of the day, visually and aurally, the latter, always an aesthetic experience. There is some notable, variation, specifically, dependent upon the changing of the seasons, however, from the onset of the spring season, until late autumn, the “theatrical performances” are predictably, familiar; indeed, one might conclude, “a total reprise.”

The final strains of the scratchy, syncopated, nachtmusik, of the Crickets, with the cicadas, the latter musical troupe, their accompanying collegiate, musicians, having, fully performed, and the players, long departed. A subtle suggestion of daylight, next insinuates itself, tantalizingly, between the spaces of sky showing through the trees, a reliable cue for the next performers: Tchere-u, jud-ee, cheepe-cheepe, and ark-ark, being heard excerpts from the diverse, feathered chorus’ opening libretto, for their early, daytime performance.  A distant, high-pitched, coyote howl and various staccato barks are, faintly, heard in the distance.

The woodland setting is then, suddenly, and abruptly, “stage lighted,” accompanied by a medium breeze, which sets out on its meandering voyage, apparently, causing a young, skittish doe, [fearful of the sudden onset of the unidentified, stirring,  movement], to jauntily, trot off, her white tail, perpendicularly, waving above her ample, snow colored, bottom, as a warning beacon to the witnessing, woodland vulnerable. Two turkey buzzards then dive low, to enable close reconnaissance, and seeing no prospects for a morning meal, quickly, swoop up and veer away. The dogs in the far distance, continue to bark.

Fully shaved, showered and casually dressed, we provision and activate the coffee maker and insert two slices of rye toast into the toaster, for the morning’s breakfast. It is now 6:30 A.M., however, we do not, as was our past, regular morning routine, switch on the news. We have become, veritably, food-poisoned with the cacophonous recitation of the names, Trump, DeSantis, Lindsey Graham, Rudy Giuliani and others, which repetitious sounds have become dissonant and repugnant to the ear.

The day has now become sunny and clear. We see two goldfinches, staccato pecking at our small, hanging, burlap bag filled with millet seed, circus trapeze-quality, nimble squirrels, negotiating precarious routes to our regular, bird feeders and a nervous, brown rabbit, rapidly, munching on our now blooming white and purple hosta.  A smile, involuntarily, breaks out on our face, upon seeing our longtime, neighbor and friend, “Morris.” Morris is a beautiful, red cardinal, apparently, in a long-term (if not, lifetime) relationship with “Sophie,” a female cardinal; both neighbors, live close to our house and have raised, at such venue, at least two (to our knowledge) generations of chicks, visibly, nested, nurtured and fledged in our juniper bush, at the front entrance. At the time, Morris was enthusiastically, feeding on some millet seed, which had apparently, fallen from the small burlap bag. Disappointingly, however, there seems to be no cavorting chipmunks about this morning.

At about 8:30 A.M., we sat at our desk [to produce this essay], when, a quick glance, through one of the large, sliding glass, doors, revealed, a rather large, beautiful but dangerous, black bear, ascend the deck steps and proceed to trash the patio planters and attack our several bird feeders, presumably, searching out his morning breakfast. The bear saw us through the glass doors, but was too busy, munching on wild bird seed to be concerned. We opened a distant glass door and yelled and made noise, in an attempt to shoo the huge brute away. He seemed to be, entirely, unimpressed and kept on with his delinquent behavior for what seemed to be an eternity (actually, approximately, ten minutes).

As he slowly, and ponderously, left, it seemed as if he looked back at us, and it was our distinct, impression that he was smiling.

-p.