TheBanyanTree: Insomniac Theater a la Natural

[B Drummond]

I'm watching insomniac theater this morning.  I'm staring at the wind
blowing the curled leaves of the butterfly bush, it illuminated by
moonlight in the backyard.

A cat with Manx in its bloodlines slinks by with its fur fluffed out
wide. It's on the prowl for an easy snack in the 21 degree weather
outside. It looks to be a stray, a feral, and I feel compassion for the
poor thing living hand to mouth in this brutal weather.

Some of the fluff from a pampas grass bloom in the yard near the
greenbelt has just been freed from its cousins and drifts away into the
night. "I'm off to see the world!", it calls back to those still bound
to the stalk.

The water trapped in the canoe reflects the porch light in an iridescent
pattern.  It has taken on its solid state a long 11 degrees ago.

Insomniac theater comes with music as well.  Made alive like the air
forced through a flute or saxophone, wind forces its way around the
eaves of the house and plays dirges at will --  simple tunes that
tell the gruesome stories of death coming silently in the paws of a
stray cat stalking on a sub-freezing night, the passing of fall, and the
birth of winter in our neck of the woods.  

Yes, they're sad refrains, but like the wise man said thousands of years
ago,

"To every thing, there is a season,
and a time
for every purpose under heaven."


There, my wind-driven dirge says, is even a time for insomnia.



     bd
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