Waste My Garbage

Here begins (I should say continues) the frantic scurry to prepare myself both materially and emotionally for another big change.
And I'm beginning to feel the knots forming in my shoulders.

Stuff. We live with too much of it. It will all end up as garbage at some point anyway.
Well, I've got more garbage to pack away before I ship out.

I can see the headlines now:

DOMESTIC WAR ZONE?: Billions $US Drained In Suburban Back-To-School Conflicts
Rustling themselves from sloven summer slumbers, the words "back to school" lay heavy on the college-bound tongues of our youth. In suburban America, where the spending and waste of early August is justified by a need to have the coolest deluxe duvet in the dorms, our reporters found Fae Thurston* ransacking the shelves at her local Target store.
"Yeah, I'm spending my parents money, but I think they'll understand that at this point in a girl's life, it's time she does her own shopping. "
The independence of the dorms, according to Fae, still holds ties of dependence to "Daddy's checkbook."
Her running total for dorm paraphernalia was $3,542.82.
Her parents...
[Story continued on D5]
_______________
I'm still not sure when my sleeping patterns will begin to smooth themselves out. I woke up at 6:50 again today, so my bike got a little early-morning rendezvous.

On the bright side, I saw a beaver this morning from the lovely view my bicycle purveys.
Does your car furnish furry woodland creature cameos? I didn't think so.

Hmmbird

August nights and sugar slush mixed with a guitar yields-

The night's white breath
Hanging thick in mango leaves
Hides a humble hummingbird
Humming his tune for me

He don't use words or rhythm,
Nor a note to make that song
His wings make all his music,
And he's guided by his tongue

[break]

Oh, little hummingbird,
Fill your stomach as you fly.
Without schemes or plans, or even dreams,
You're still fully satisfied.

Teach me all your aimless ways.
Where does your ambrosia flow?
Is it in the buds you sip?
Oh, please, I beg you to show

Me.

[Chorus]
On a peaceful, misted morning
I can barely see my way,
But the beating of the bird's wings
Casts those doubting clouds astray

Now's the time to lose it all--
All your schemes, your plans, your dreams.
I'll just taste the wind
And fill up
On uncertainty.

So this birdie in a mango tree
Is the greatest teacher yet;
Teaching nothing for the future,
'cause the present's your best bet.

He taught me a lesson
That keeps me going on:
Never plan your life away,
And you'll always have a song.

So sing.

[Chorus]

[Solo]

[Chorus]

Sing with me little hummingbird.
Fly with me tonight. Fly right,
And you can fly with confidence
Into the darkest night.

So that's what I've been doing, and a talented guitarist helped me do it.
Apparently, a big black dog will soon play host to this guitarist, although said musician hates coffee.

Fin.
For now.