A Squirrel’s Tale
Day 209 / 1428 Miles
When walking, I try to stay heads up to take in everything the day’s path has to display. But, not keeping track of the ground before your feet can result in your own cann on the pavement, and with no one else to blame. (There’s a reason they call it ass-fault). Looking down too, can result in spotting curiosities that sometimes are more engrossing than what’s on the horizon. I’ve not found that Krugerrand I’d so hoped for, but hope flows; the journey’s not concluded. In the mean, I’ll be content with the few found flecks of glitter in the litter (none of which is golden, but shiny enough to catch my attention deficient eye). Speaking of stumbling over two left feet, I actually found two left feet! Prosthetic feet that is. I couldn’t help but wondering, when walking away, wouldn’t their owner have noticed a a change in gait?
And speaking of squirrels, I noticed a curious thing about’em that reminded me of a kuntry kitch plaque I saw in Bradley’s Country Store that read “Be decisive. The road is paved with flat squirrels that couldn’t make up their minds”. What I’ve spied is not flattened sail squirrels, but tails, just fresh floppy tails. Lots of’em. If I’d been thinking on my feet, rather than just walking on them, I could’d’ve collected enough to make a coat to wear on game days. Since fashion trends are cyclic, we’re about due for the reemergence of the raccoon (or squirrel tail) coat fad of the 1920s. But we’re talking squirrels here, not chameleons. They don’t shed their tails in the fall and re-grow replacements. It’s my wife’s theory that the hesitant rodents that do make it across with their lives, pay the Michelin Man with their tails. More than just plausible I’d say. The shortened adornment probably becomes a sought after trait during mating season.
Another oddity seen daily, I mentioned in an earlier post. I see them so often that I created a photo album all their own. It’s called; Our Daily Braid. I’ve photo’ed hundreds of braided hair weaves that’ve come to the end of their useful lives and are callously tossed to the wind. I couldn’t help to wonder, are they truly at their useful end? I mean, why aren’t they re-tied, glued, or stapled back into place. Maybe I should’ve been collecting them all along too to make an impressive headdress. That creature in the Predator movies comes to mind.
Nothing of real value has come my way though. I found a couple of working cell phones that I returned to their parent’s. Good deeds that won’t go unpunished I’m sure. I found a holster with a fully loaded spare clip, but no gun (I expect an earlier bird had already made off with that 9mm worm). The only legal tender encountered was a scattered cache of note bundle bands of varied amounts between $2K to $10K. Like finding a trail of Victoria’s Secret panties, such finds tend to quicken the pulse. Other baubles found and kept fall into the category I call Boo Radley offerings. Like Jim and Scout did, if I now can find just the right tree with just the right knot hole to put’em in.
And what’s up with the forks in the road? Forks, forks, and more forks. Not spoons. Not knives. Just forks. I’ve taken the words of Yogi Berra to heart and now have quite an impressive collection. So many that I hope there’s a 12 step program for fork hoarders (I’ve already joined the FHA self help group). Prey on me, will ya?
Quote of the week: “The social and imaginative function of cities is under threat from the tyranny of bad architecture, souless planning, and indifference to the basic unit of urban language, the street, and the -ruissellement de paroles- (stream of words) and endless stories which animate it. Keeping the city alive depends on understanding their grammar and generating the new utterances on which they thrive. The principal agency of this process is walking.” Jean Cristophe Bailly – Paris
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