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Balance of Power

You have no idea how difficult it can be to get an accurate squirrel population count in my backyard. I was in the lanai trying to be unnoticed and being as still as Lot's wife after her friends played that practical joke on her. I was counting the little goofballs as they rocketed around the lawn and up, over, and through the fence. I was getting counts ranging from seven to eleven. Once I counted twelve.


Ms. Wonder is concerned that we're experiencing an infestation. I think that by feeding them twice daily, we've encouraged residents in larger squirrel cities, to relocate to our more relaxed coastal communities. The problem is, we don't have the infrastructure to support the growth.

Birds were in great abundance this morning too. It's late October and the annual east coast bird migration is only beginning to taper off. I've counted 100 different species in our neighborhood this fall and many of them aren't native to the area. Just as I was about to open the lanai door, a Bluejay began making a racket. It was his signature call.

"Skreeee, skreeee, skreeee!" shouted the Jay.

The animals scattered, some of them falling over themselves trying to get to the safety of the forest. Between the calls from the Jay, I became aware of another call, a sort of high-pitched whistle, coming from much higher, and farther away. 

Hawk! I thought. I quickly checked the Merlin app on my phone. It was a Red-Shouldered Hawk.

I scanned the sky above me but saw nothing. Back into the house and out the front door into the open. The hawk was at least two hundred feet above the edge of our little community,  drifting in great, lazy circles that brought it slowly toward my house.

Breakfast, I thought to myself and I was thinking of his breakfast, not mine. The hawk would be over my house in the next minute or two and I was considering what to do to make my yard seem undesirable to a hawk when a crow crossed my vision flying at rooftop level and heading in the general direction of the trees that border our little village.

"You go girl," I said to the crow thinking she was planning to give the hawk a dose of grief for invading her home turf. But you be careful, I thought. "There's only one of you and you don't have his razor-sharp, bone-crushing talons."

Before I finished the thought, another crow appeared flying in the same direction as the first. Then a second, a third, until there were six crows, all heading to the same part of the forest.

I knew what they were planning, of course, and you do too. They were going to review their attack plans, synchronize their watches, and perform their duty.

About 15 minutes later, the hawk was directly over the houses that line the cul-de-sac in front of my house. In another 10 minutes, he would be directly over my backyard.

That's when I heard it. The collective chatter of a murder of crows. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that 'murder' is the correct name for a group of crows. Regular followers of The Circular Journey know these things. If you're a newcomer to the blog, then welcome. It's good to have you here.

One of the crows, probably near the crow flying in the point position, made a different sound. Hard to describe it. I don't pretend to be an expert on crow battle tactics, but I expect she was providing the leader with intelligence updates on recent developments in the hawk's position, orientation, and tactical response to the crow advance. Don't you agree?

Whatever information she was relaying, I'm sure it was something like, "There's only six of us, Ma'am. That hawk is spoiling for a fight, and he has bone-crushing, razor-sharp talons."

"Caaagghh," said the leader, and to me it seemed she was saying, "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant. Damn the talons! Full speed ahead!"

I could hear the other crows encouraging each other with caws of support.

"The Old Girl will get us through. The Old Girl ain't afraid of nothin'!" they said.
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I pumped a fist toward the sky. "Wait 'til you see the whites of his eyes," I cried, "and then give him hell!"

It wasn't much but I wanted to show my support and appreciation of their efforts. I suppose I was a cheerleader of sorts.

Although thinking of myself as a pacificist, I could support the crow attack without reserve because I knew the hawk wouldn't be hurt in the attack. Physically, I mean. His ego would be bruised quite severely and he might possibly need therapy to get over it. But he'd be alright.

What I witnessed was something that I like to call a 'balance of power'. It's something that Mother Nature stumbled across years ago and it's one of her best discoveries, if you want my opinion.

I think it would benefit the humans among us if they used the concept in forming their governments. Think of it. Different branches of government serving as watchdogs over the other branches.

And so there you have it; the beginning of my Sunday morning. As I drove out of the neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a hawk twisting, turning, diving, and generally trying to get away from a murder of crows intent on giving him hell.

On my way to meet the Island Irv at Cafe Luna, I felt like all was right with the world. The squirrels and birds in my backyard were safe for another day and I had a story to tell the islander over coffee.

Life Is A Highway

We don’t know where we're goin’ but we sure know where we’ve been. We're hanging onto the promises in songs of yesterday. We've made up our mind. We ain't wasting no more time. Here we go again. *1



Sometimes I'm not comfortable in my own skin. I feel the need to get away, to be somewhere else. I don't know where. It doesn't really matter as long as it's somewhere I'm not. But then that's the problem, isn't it? No matter where I go, there I am. 


Riding along in my automobile, Ms. Wonder next to me at the wheel, cruisin' and playin' the radio, with no particular place to go. *2


As long as I'm moving down the road, it's enough. Well, nearly enough. It's best when I have the windows down and the radio turned up to eleven. Oh, and the sunshine doesn't necessarily need to shine but, if it is shining, then it's just better that's all. It's anxiety that spurs me to drive away--away from wherever I am--and that anxiety is filled with dark storm clouds, so having a bright sky overhead helps.


As the man said, let the golden age begin. I put my hands on the wheel, let the window down and with the ocean breeze on my skin, the weight of the world drifts away.  *3


I spend a lot of time driving around in my car. It's not the safest thing I could do. I don't have to tell you that. Driving a car is risky in any event and sometimes here in ugly-angry-macho-land, the risk escalates because so many daredevils are on the road. Is it ugly-angry-macho-land everywhere now? 


That's why I have to get away. I'm goin' up the country to someplace I've never been before. I try to leave all the fussin' and fightin' behind me. Of course, the fussin' and fightin' is inside my head. *4


It doesn't really matter where we go--Ms. Wonder and I. It only matters that we move forward. There's something about the feeling of moving toward the horizon that is promising, liberating, and encouraging. It just makes me feel better--less anxious.


The sound of my wheels on the road slapping out a tempo, keeping perfect rhythm with the song on the radio puts me in the zone. And so I just keep moving down the highway. Driving my life away, looking for a sunny day, and a better way for me. *5



Driving to the music can sometimes transform my mood completely. I always get caught up in the lyrics and begin to sing along. My mood sometimes climbs so high, that I feel like I am the front-guy, or front-gal. I don't just sing along with Elton, I become Elton.


When it all comes together, I'm so laid back, hypnotized by the funky sounds coming out of my radio, pedestrians see me bobbin my head as I check out the rapper and the rhyme that he said. *6


Some people just don't get it. They think I'm foolish for all the foolish things I do. But what does it mean to be foolish? After all, they say Eve tempted Adam with an apple, but man I ain't going for that! *7


Some people suggest meditation, or exercise, or therapy. One person suggested that I go to more meetings. They may all be right and I'll try. Really I will. Until then, I'm on the road again. 


We're the best of friends, me, Ms. Wonder, Wynd Horse, and Quinn. Going places we've never been and seeing things we may never see again. And I just can't wait to get on the road again. *8


I don't worry myself over the whole rigamarole. I may be on a road to nowhere but I don't care. When I'm on that road, I'm feeling okay and that, for me, is a road to paradise. *9


Hey, barista, pour me another cup of coffee. Pop it down, jack me up, shoot me out, flyin' down the highway. *5


Here we go again. Going down the only road we’ve ever known. We've made up our minds. Ain't wasting no more time. Here we go again. *1


Wonder and I have so many places to go and so much to see. It's a wide, wild, wonderful world we're driving through, Billy Bob. And although we may be on a road to nowhere, it's the road to paradise for us. And here we go again, now, always and forever. 


We'll drive til we drop and, baby..., we ain't never looking back. *10


Thank you to every songwriter and musical artist for your passion and dedication to making music and song. I sometimes feel that I would not be here today if not for you. The lyrics in this blog post are just a few of the many that sustain me daily. The songs and artists are noted below. The lyrics used in the post are not exact quotes.


*1 Here I Go Again, Whitesnake

*2 No Particular Place to Go, Chuck Berry

*3 The Golden Age, Beck

*4 Going Up The Country, Canned Heat

*5 Driving My Life Away, Eddie Rabbit

*6 The Boomin System, L L Cool J

*7 Pink Cadilac, Natalie Cole

*8 On The Road Again, Willie Nelson

*9 Road to Nowhere, Talking Heads

*10 Born To Run, Bruce Springsteen





The Card Game

I was troubled yesterday by the thought that my blog posts aren't as uplifting as they once were and far less inspirational than I remembered.

I apologize for that. I appreciate your attention and support more than you can possibly realize and I do my best to bring goodness and light into my life by first bringing it into yours.



My troubling thoughts spilled into troubling dreams. You see, I often dream about the obstacles and absurdities that I encounter in life, and many times the dreams bring some new understanding or some helpful enlightenment. 

I call those dream revelations, Hello Kittens. I'll explain why later, perhaps in another post. But for now, let's just go with it. This morning's dream woke me at 4:45.

Hello, Kitten, said that familiar voice in my head.

I walked into Egret Cafe, in the dream. It was Sunday morning and, just like most Sunday mornings, I was to meet Island Irv there for our weekly recap of the social and economic goings-on of the Port City.

Sunday mornings are usually slow in the coffee shops of the Castle Street Arts District. Most patrons want to sit quietly and let caffeine flush the cobwebs from their minds and restore them to something resembling human. But it's never boring. 

Walking through the gathering of the Twee who filled the seating area, I nodded to three regulars, all women of a certain age. They were playing a game of cards. 

"What a nice shirt," said one of the relics. Let's call her Barbie Espresso, which is the drink she always orders.

"Thank you," I said. "I like it too; my favorite shirt."

"You always wear the nicest shirts," she said. "Why don't you join us. We need a fourth hand.'

You will understand, I'm sure, that all I really wanted was to meet up with the Islander and enjoy our usual deconstruction of the week's news. But what could I say after the nice compliment? I sat and picked up the cards in front of me. Oat Latte leaned over and looked at the cards in my hand.

"Oooh!" she said and then looking at her hand for comparison, she said, "Let's be partners." 

"You'll need to ante up to get in the game, Hon," said Barbie.

"I'll need a new set of cards," I said. "Oat Latte has seen my hand."

"It doesn't matter," said Medicine Ball, the third member, "we don't know how to play anyway."

"The ante is fitty cent," said Oat, pronouncing it like the name of the rapper. "But it has to be an actual half-dollar coin."

The last remark got a laugh around the table but I didn't join in. I was feeling more and more like I'd made a mistake by accepting their invitation.

"Yeah," said Barbie, "and we'd prefer a Flowing Hair Liberty dated 1794 or 1795."

The laugh was much bigger this time. I felt the need to respond and I worked up something like a laugh but it had no real pep. 

"Well, I never see half dollars anymore," I said, "and I'm certain I don't have one of those in my pocket."

"Honey," said Oat, placing her hand on my shoulder, "if we thought you had one of those in your pocket, we'd be your new best friends."

Once more there was laughter all around and this time I felt compelled to join in. It was painful.

"Don't worry about the ante," said Oat Latte. "I think we can accept a little sweat equity in place of hard cash, right girls?"

"Equity?" I said. "How does that work?"

"Here it comes," said Medicine Ball. "Are you ready?"

I looked around the table as Princess Amy began to stir in my head. Amy was saying, "Uh-oh, this isn't good."

Medicine leaned forward across the table. The cafe had become silent as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. She looked hard into my eyes and said, "I wouldn't put that shirt on the bottom of my cockatoo's cage."

Laughter exploded from the three women like a Biblical pestilence. The effect was felt around the room. Dogs barked. Babies cried. A loud pop sounded behind the counter and the cafe was filled with the aroma of burned coffee grounds.

"Cheer up, dear," said Oat picking up the undealt deck of cards. "That was your sweat equity. How many cards do you want?"

"Good morning," said Island Irv coming on the scene. "Good to see you, Genome. He seemed to ignore the three women when he said, "Let's order coffee."

Suddenly, I realized why he didn't acknowledge the women. They had disappeared. It was all a dream and I woke.

"Hello, Kitten," said the familiar voice in my head.

I'm told that dreams such as these are sent to teach and guide us. To help us become our best selves and help to reach our destiny. If that's true, then I say again, Who the hell is Kitten?





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