Zeroing In
Aprilcot 22
41 A.B.



My dance with the sky continues.  It's a clear, cold sky that's in my arms tonight.  Calm, with lots of stars - all apparently in their proper places, slowly pirouetting 'round and 'round.  For all the power we men allegedly wield, the sky always leads.  Always.  Even on calm nights like tonight when it takes a while to realize that it's moving at all.  And of course on cloudy nights like last night, when its phantom wisps of water vapor brush teasingly, invisibly across the neck and cheek.  And most obviously on stormy nights like Thursday's, when we performed an outrageous tango for hours on end.

Ahh, my sweet, sweet sky.  I think I'll keep her.

If she'll let me.


The ground was wet today as befits a ground that's seen only a few brief hours of sunlight since the storms of Thursday.  Instead of mowing my neighbor's yard as she'd hoped I would, I stayed home and pulled dandelions from my own grass with the assistance of one of those mercifully Pentium-free forked weeders.  Curiously, the simple act of plunging this weeder into the ground near the base of a dandelion and levering the root up was enough to send earthworms hastily oozing up out of the ground some distance away.  I guess they were still skittish from the recent rains.  Having recently read that all the worms on earth outweigh all the people by two to one, I stopped my weeding and came inside.

Why risk angering a life form that outweighs me two to one?

I'm many things, but stupid isn't always one of them.


The house tonight is quiet.  Unnaturally quiet.  I wonder if it is pining away for the night just outside its walls but which I never allow in for my house to enjoy.  My house is a controlled environment, you see.  Screens keep the bugs and leaves out, and doors and windows prevent all the other limbs of the night from getting in.  My house cannot easily catch so much as the scent of the night without really exerting itself.  Sometimes I think it is the one who has been leaving those unsigned notes in my living room and office, urging me to go to bed - just once - with all my doors and windows wide open.  Sometimes I think I have no right to keep the insides of my house from feeling the touch and the smell and the temperature of the night that it craves.  

Then I remember the earthworms... and the crows... and the ant... and the cows....

And then I hurry to double-check all my locks.


I am wearing midnight blue terry cloth socks, slightly lighter blue cotton pants, black jockey shorts, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a heavy multi-colored sweatshirt of sorts.  The left arm is navy blue, the right arm is gray, and in between is maroon.  

I am color top heavy tonight.

I don't understand why I don't just topple over.


I am thinking about Elian tonight.  I am glad the Feds raided the home he's been staying at and have finally reunited him with his father.  I have no sympathy for the relatives crying over the fact that the Feds kicked in their door to get Elian.  They've had 5 months to prepare.  If they couldn't be bothered to get themselves a few kick-proof doors in that time, it's their own damn fault.

My sympathies turn instead to another boy.  A boy also about 6 years old.  A boy no congressman has ever given a puppy.  A boy still waiting for a chance to play with Diane Sawyer.

Let's call him Danito.

Dedicated to all the images trapped and forgotten in all the photo albums in all the world


Danito has been stuck in that photo now not for 5 months but for over 30 years.  No one has come to visit him.  No food has slipped past his lips.  The man who imprisoned him there in a thin web of emulsion with a single, cold-hearted click of his fancy machine is long gone, never to return.  Only Danito remains, forever trapped in 1966, forever awaiting a court order which might take his best interests into account - but which never, ever comes.

Ms. Reno, if you're reading this - thank you for your actions of today.

And if it's not to much to ask - if you have any agents still dressed up in assault gear - could you please have them stop by and kick in the sides of a simple picture frame?

I want to be reunited with my Inner Child....


There's a rumor going around that tomorrow is Easter.  The word on the street is that a Big Bunny might soon be hopping by, with pretty eggs and jelly beans for all the Good People.

And the eternal flames of hell for all the Bad.

Or maybe stewed carrots.  I really can't say myself.  I'm no theologian/bunny herdsman.

But I do know this:  If my house thought there was a chance in hell of my leaving my doors and windows wide open tonight, it's even crazier than I thought.

If the Feds need to get in to liberate Danito, I'm sure they will.  Especially if they can remember to call ahead.

The earthworms and the Big Bunnies aren't gonna have it quite so easy....

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(©Now by Dan Birtcher while Lieutenant Jester covers me)