View from the Top

I climbed my first tree before I was five. Got stuck. Screamed. Daddy had to walk two miles home from work in the middle of a hot West Virginia afternoon and rescue me. Like a cat, I finally learned not to climb down head-first. For the next XX years (I'd say how many, but no one would believe it) I spent time in the tops of trees, where I learned some of life's most important skills -- and pleasures. I'd say what they were (and are) but that would be telling. And you know what they say -- writers should show, not tell. So kick off your shoes and shimmy on up. Join me here surrounded by blue sky and little green leaves. Bring a book if you like, or a notebook. The apples up here are crisp and ripe and free for the picking.

Monday, September 20, 2010


Don't discount any source that soothes you.  I now own a collection of exotic chickens.  Actually, it's a book on the subject, which lives on my coffee table where, at any time, I can flip it open and lose myself in the -- well, the exoticness of it all.  Here's a little something you might not know: "The Araucana from South America . . . lays eggs that have a faint green or blue tint.  The native Araucas resisted the mating of their birds with those of the conquering Spaniards, thus preserving the character of these chickens.  This breed has ear muffs . . . and . . . wears a beard."  Now, what could be more quirky?  This little blip of arcaneness I can now carry around in my head and focus on it whenever someone starts trying to screw up my day. 

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