Sitting here, outside on a Sunday afternoon with the sounds of suburbia
the birds, the gentle breeze, mixed with the random cacophony and constant background sounds of man and his influence
the bark of a dog,
the hypnotic hum of compressors
the paroxysm of a car alarm
Calm – interrupted by the sucking mosquitoes (euphemism)
A red tail hawk, a chicken hawk, stares at me
I’m too big for a meal
chased away by smaller blackbirds
The Turkey vulture circles overhead – I’m not dead yet.
dog dumps in yard
that shall draw in the muse I wish to attract!
Now rolling in the grass, fortunately not the same spot
The beer is more bitter than I care for
odd, usually I like this brand, and it’s far less bitter than many I drink
There a faint perfume in the air
chirping house sparrows (English Sparrows)
they are very friendly, but messy
Jasmine!
Inspected by a wasp
I am of no interest
a Warning?
Where is the damn muse?
Cheep, cheep tweets the sparrow
please, no aerial presents
I know where the muse hides
but like the cat scampering about
she must come to me
I cannot chase her down and catch her
must set the mood and entice
occasionally I can grab and hold
like the cat, she purrs for a moment then leaps free
I know what frighten the muse
but powerless to rectify
I am not her master
mousebert
