Just This Once

fog3      A band of rebel winds that started out deceptively warm and breezy 2061 nautical miles west of the edge of western civilization turned chill and prickly upon arrival in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The winds did not take long to take over. It might have seemed like only yesterday but it was all about here and now. High pressure plunged deep and low. It sounded a lot like Ike Turner crooning bass to Tina. Flimsy expectations were first to bite the dust. Then some serious shit started kicking loose. Spiral galaxies twisted. Formerly staid destinations disappeared behind a dark, roiling haze. Smoke was blown up the cracks in the San Andreas Fault. Illusions resurfaced where form obliterated content. Foundations became exposed as mere shifting sand. Myopic visions became blurred as mere facades. Mine concerned me most. Did this signal time for a change? I had been previously all shook up but this shook me up all over again.


The high flying birds who were perched in the tallest redwood trees atop Mt. Umunhum naturally seized the time, and space, and soared. In standard soaring among beautiful birds, there is high and higher. Two miles high begins higher. Higher is all about here and now with no beginning and no end. Big eyes of beautiful birds take it in deep. After, as well as before, there’s more where that came from. Overlapping abutments abound, often.


I asked the tawny owl, seriously “Where does the time go when there is no beginning and no end?”

I knew I had made a classic mistake as soon as my mouth came open and a trap snapped shut. I had made the same mistake plenty of times before. But I stuck with what I knew. Without mistakes, how else would we as a myopic species be able discover so many unintended consequences? I felt strongly as if I was in that way and that way only making my default contribution to many of the sillier categories on which statistical errors thrive, age, race, gender, habituations, and lack of faith, no matter how chill the winds were blowing. As such, I watched the tawny owl flying away with my usual regret. I hardly ever fail to overestimate my abilities. Repetition, repetition, repetition keeps me hard at work doing the same old same old.

I called out in vain, “I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

smoke in color 4

Under such objective conditions, and not merely as an unintended consequence of the vast empire for profit of hostile mistakes, illuminating results often remain fair to middling. The shaking as it turned out on the ground shook not only me. I had never seen so many woodpeckers, for example, who were so perturbed in one grove of redwood trees creating one cacophonous result. They sounded like the resolute Sun Ra who was gone, gone, gone, and not coming back. My disturbing behavior became shaken all over again once more. I nearly mistook one hostile gang of carmine and crimson peckers for a bunch of irascible blue jays. What if that was about to become a new trend? I was wearing the wrong colors, the wrong hat, the wrong shoes, the wrong size. Sure, I was scared. Nothing new in that. When I turned my neck sharply to readjust I reached the wrong mundane conclusion. My neck rejected the overture. Unless it was just one more of many unintended consequences. It was not about to be the first time but hurt no less.


Later, I called out more futilely to the tawny owl, who was of course swirling right smack dab in the funky middle, to ask if he could slow down to my speed and be serious and indulgent with me just this one time more for my benefit alone. I might have hurt my throat in doing so, but it was potentially worth the effort.

“This is the last time I’ll ask,” I promised.

He said, “Ha, ha, as in, see ya.”

Later, straddling one of the many cracks in the San Adreas Fault where smoke was still blowing, I did not know if my unfortunate behavior after one fact and one fact only displayed the distinctive characteristics of an unintended consequence or an out and out mistake? Nothing new in that either. I felt as if a series of cartoon balloons had filled up with a symphony of oof, wham, bam, bong, and bonked me.

But, oh boy, it was mundane and exciting as a first person singular to witness major events in devolution occur so close at hand right up front. Too bad I can’t get rid of this myopia.



About marclevytoo

writer of fiction
This entry was posted in animals, birds, culture, environment, evolution, humor, legalize marijuana, writing, wtf and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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