Nutty Wintry Challenge

Recently, with Mother Nature's visit with that glistening non-sticking flaky snow, indicating that the cold is so brisk that it blows about like desert sand, I‘ve been observing and have been witness with much human angst the depleting destruction of my diligent and concerted efforts at keeping the bird feeders full of seed. These ten feeders, I have placed logistically about in my front and back yards. One is a wooden rustic looking feeder that resembles a doll house hangs from a limb of a tree. Four are manufactured feeders with a transparent midriff and a covered copper top, and the others of varying decorative makeup hanging from curved raw iron cast prongs stuck in the ground. A couple are filled with thistle to welcome smaller blue birds, some filled with multigrain seed that entice the cardinals, blue jays and blackbirds. They now sway about not from wind but from being recently and surreptitiously depleted by those consummate and insatiable, Davy Crockett tailed varmints that normally reside in arboreal domiciles. They have recently challenged me in battle to keeping the feeders full for the intended visitors being my aviary friends. It’s become a battle that has challenged me to become creative as to how to keep these demon representatives (some although irresistibly cute) of the ‘nut world’ from being able to climb up the shafts of the intended ominous looking black iron hangers. They have caused me to formulate a composition that must be develop secretly behind closed doors, beyond the vision of these quad-pedal terrestrials. A composition that I must continuously apply on the shafts of these iron hangers where my feeders hang. A slippery concaction that will remain untenable under all weather conditions where those talons from the varmints feet will be unable to grasp and climb. They will no longer be able to reach and deplete my feeders from the intended feathered friends and will have to gather their own food from their natural habitat. No longer will I peer through slightly ajar curtains or sneak a peak around an open window to try to catch these foes and force me to reach into and refer back to those darken primal acts let alone causing my neighbors to question my pounding upon my picture window in my morning robe that has on occasion opened which I wonder if that is the cause for them 'Davy Croquet hat looking tail wagging theives' to scatter and scurry in fear.

Absence of Pain

Gradually, quietly and most cautiously my morning step, my foot print, is once again showing positive signs of enthusiasm. Carefully I place my foot onto the floor arising from my bed after a joyous recognition that my sleep has been restful. The restless unmitigated pain that for so long had sharply assailed my legs and hips now wanes with welcome solace and soothing dreams. From the very moment of waking, a profound cognizance of the absence of pain, my morning ascends into a sense of creative stimuli that inspires a writ of poetic verse. I am cautious of this moment but I waste not to dwell upon how long it may last and inhale with lustful breath to fill my memory tank so that when the insidious pain may once again pierce this euphoric cloud the strength of this memory will help squash the excruciating pangs of pain.

I feared for so long what was presented to me of replacing my biogenetic hips with prosthetics as one of only two options in relieving the incarcerating pain. The other option was to accept self-medication for my remaining living years which could result in the deterioration of a functioning liver and kidneys and possibly an addiction that would slide me into a state of unpredictable intolerant personality changes toward all my relationships and affecting my lucidity and creativity. I feared not so much the high risk of the surgical procedures and the possibility that I may not have awakened from the artificially imposed sleep, for I fear not ’death’, but the fear of the premature cessation of an unsubstantiated life. Leaving without imparting upon this existence literary writ and memories that may inspire others to perpetuate the understanding that the value of life is to be ‘creative’ in lieu of a vacuous existence or one of destruction. The road I chose was in putting my life in the hands of surgeons that would replace a total pelvic construct and substitute my painful hips with prosthetics. This choice has imposed some sacrifices in my lifestyle which would have arisen anyway as an eventuality through aging. I am now highly appreciative of my choice that has provided me with awakenings in the mornings from my now comforting sleep. The wondrous absence of the nightmarish insufferable pain has won over the battle that had on occassion filled my thoughts with the desire to put an end to the unyielding pain via an otherwise portentous method.