When I was seven, I was told, “You must clean your teeth!”
Regularly – told and brushed that is.
Now that I’m older, much older, I enjoy cleaning my teeth. I feel completely dressed, ready to face the day.
Yesterday, a visit to my dentist. One of those regular checks. You never know, the Apocolypse could be tomorrow. Must have clean teeth.
While there (always a pleasant ‘mouth open’ chat, families, trips away, etc). While there, he cleaned my teeth. Sure, with a buzzy brush and a classy toothpaste.
To the cost of thirty five coffees.
I came home. My teeth so far have been cleaned twice today.
Winter Too cool to ride An E Bike, yes But no provision for heated handlebars
Sunny day – I’m like a kid out of school Out I go On the trail The loved and familiar sounds Sights Contented cows Munching Always munching
The steps at the end of our street. Some days I walk up two at a time. Exercise. Coming Down always one at a time – easier to take a spill coming down. Not a agile as I once was. Coming down I often up I meet up with a dog walker. If we know each other the doggo is released for a chat. I speak fluent dog. Also a good way to meet neighbour’s. On ‘one step at a time’ days it is usually for a good walk around the block. Or even downtown. But less so these days, lugging shopping uphill best left for the young ones. Who don’t walk but drive cars. On solitary days the magic is in the birdsong about me. Particularly now in Spring. Loud, assertive they do get to know me. Stay perched she were they are and watch. Rewarded now and then by a Kingfisher. There is one goldfish missing from our pond.
Sparrows
In city life, or country he’s quite a common bird The male quite distinct, a black bib on his chest And if not seen, they always can be heard Bread maybe, though wild bird seed is the best Just now he’s got a straw, I guess to build a nest. Erratic flight, he’s nothing like an arrow That aside, endearing, our common garden sparrow
A fidget of pre-schoolers A sum of accountants A snooze of cats A wander of pensioners A hush of nuns Frenzy of fleas Carousel of teenagers Aspire of architects Delusion of Trumpites Munch of mice Puff of politicians Whisper of librarians
A sway of Preachers
Smirk of tax accountants A fuckle of bunnies Ripple of electricians A bustle of rest rooms Query of academics Insight of surgeons
All day long the chainsaws buzzed. A now retired arborist (a defoliated arborist?), looked at our Liquid Amber. Long and overhanging branches barely moved. A still day. “They could be dangerous in a high wind. That tree needs to have the crown lowered. I thought of a coronation not that long ago. Tree Shapes arrive. Three pleasant young fellows in comfortable light clothing – it was 11 degrees – happily munching the last of a breakfast bought at our Bakehouse. Unhealthy as it was satisfying. A large green truck, plus a mysterious, large green trailer, with hand flapping from one of the crew, backs down our curved drive. An experienced eye surveys the tree. A few words to the team. A light, weighted cord thrown over a ‘significant’ branch. A sturdier climbing rope drawn up and over. The ballet begins. Abseiling, advice from down below, moving from branch to branch, and heavy branches delicately lowered by rope. Team work. Our sweeper-upper, a stocky and strong fellow adept at job swapping, guided heavy limbs across our garage roof, shouted suggestions to his mate aloft, leapt down and did chain sawing stuff to make grandpa’s (me) firewood cutting easier. Once, he yelled, “Hold it!” to someone, somewhere. Maybe,just maybe, there’s an unseen guy somewhere still holding it. And so to the The Third Man for him to play his part. With earmuffs close, and pouch of tools on side he starts the mysterious and heavy green trailer. It is a muncherator. Starting up it sounds like an Air NZ jet engine. Even louder when branches, heavy, and thicker than a man’s arm is fed down a chute. Then a blast of wood chips from the metal tube on top feeds the green truck with mulch. Like a giant food processor. It is a tree processor. Once a branch, it is now sans leaves, sans twigs, sans everything. They worked all day. A brief stop for lunch. Five pm. Silence. The autumn leaves have gone. No birds. “That tree was a landmark!” – a neighbour passing by. Lonely, gaunt against the evening sky, our Liquid Amber.
Blue sky, black clouds Sun, wind bursts Old year, New Year Hiatus Wake, breakfast, cleanup Walk Yesterday, tomorrow New year, old year La vita e bella
New Year The same old ‘new start’ As clouds, resolutions come and go
Barefoot walk Second childhood Simple unadulted joy Feeling stuff beneath my feet Exercise “How many steps have you done today?”
Today to make scones ‘Avec des compléments de santé’ Raspberry jam Whipped cream Chat and relax with neighbours I hope on our front porch But Blue sky, black clouds Sun, wind bursts
Location Weather permitting ~ Whipped cream, red jam Melting butter and scones A certainty!
Sol means ‘of the sun’. The ‘stice’ goes back into ancient, Latin times meaning to stand still. I’m not sure what actually stands still. The solar system keeps creaking as does the universe and my bones. The Solstice occurs when either of Earth’s poles reaches its maximum tilt away from the Sun. So I guess we’re all on a tilt too. Right now it’s our longest day. For a moment I do stand still. And think, ‘Our longest day is here, and going, next solstice it will be friggin Winter!
I am Not A winter person.
But, warmer summer days are yet to come. “Long, hot, dry days lads!” the drought-ologists tell us.
I have an e-bike. As I ride across the plains past calm and contemplating cows, ancient tractors, those tight blue-plastic wrapped hay thingies (hay-kebabs?) I wonder just how much, even just the squinchiest bit I am doing for climate warming. A fosssil on a bike maybe but no fossil fuel used.
What say I sweat with grandfatherly exertion? Another small step towards climate extinction? A tiltier tilt on the earth’s axis?
Summer solstice. Then the step by step to winter. Stuff it. Enjoy the now. Cafes, mates, the hapily lost souls ready for a chat on the trail. The last one another elderly fellow, a plain bike with bulging pannier bags left home two days ago. He camps down by the road side – “I got bored at home, so, go for a bike ride.”
Summer Solstice. It lasts for only a brief moment in time. The best of summer still awaits.
David in Pen and Pics 