who wouldn’t want to be like us?

What you don’t see after the photo is taken (ten twenty times) (after two years of owning my Blackberry Storm I discovered the sepia tone setting on the camera portion), is the confused neighbor standing out in the street, baffled at the flashes of light coming from this second-story window with no apparent source.

I was the source. Or rather, my phone-the-camera was the source. I was sprawled on the floor, crawling about on my hands and knees so I could better experiment with the new settings on my phone and the newly found views. What does this do? What happens if I say yes to this? Can I get a photo of the stormy light, with the shamrock leaves closed up for the night? Why is there an army man stuck inside this pot?

It was a dark and stormy night. The newly repaired wind chimes were chiming at the back of the house. Leaves on my neighbors’ trees were clinging to the limbs, gasping for breath, but the white birch leaves were showing off: Look Ma, No hands!  The cottonwoods were stoic and stern, knowing tomorrow’s lawn would be scattered with foolish birch leaves, but nary a cottonwood.

And I was caught up in a character in a book lent to me by the library. An astrophysicist had declined to work in his industry, and instead? Instead he spent his lifetime doing odd chores for Rent a Hand. One day he would walk dogs, another he’d build head frames for a carpenter in need of one more hammer at the building site. Sometimes the could-have-been-an-astrophysicist would hand out sandwiches at South Park.  And why? Or, but why?

Working in his chosen field brought him too close to the pane of glass which afforded him a view into the magic of astrophysics. Quite by accident, he found the further he distanced himself from the pane, the deeper the view. Hard to see the entire picture with his nose pressed up against the glass. Finally, a man who could understand me.

And what you don’t see here are the pups and the pleasure they were experiencing because I had opened every window and left the screen-less back door wide open to let the storm blow through in order to cool down my house. The pups, Charles the Chewer and  Calzone the Toy Nabber were accustomed to my distracted ways. No way will Sherry notice if we drag the blankets outside. No way will Sherry notice if we chew on just a little bit of Page 39 in her Ireland book.

And what you don’t see here is the pile of dirt spilled on the bedroom carpet. I was midway into realizing my phone also had a white/black feature and the ability to control the flash. If I hunched down on the floor and held it at a stiff 135-degree angle maybe I could get some better shots. The pups by then had tired of hauling every rug and blanket out of the house onto the back lawn;  just as I pressed the shutter, the pups nosed my shooting arm. Shooting elbow hit the table, table rocked a bit. Shamrocks and dirt bit it, doing the a$$-over-tea-kettle dive.

Caption to this photo: Who wouldn’t want to be like us?

 

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About redmitten

author of Cracking Geodes Open, Making Good Use of August, and The Peppermint Bottle. poetry editor for IthacaLit and YB Poetry Journal. website: https://toomuchaugust.wordpress.com

5 responses to “who wouldn’t want to be like us?

  1. oh yeah, sherry….oh yeah

  2. wuffda

    but, but, they looooove you!

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