An English In Kentucky


















February 13th 2011    Tim Candler

    The Close Mockingbird has not coughed since we chased off the Southern Mockingbird.  He looked at me from his Cherry Tree this morning, and I think I saw his familiar contempt for those of us who have lived indoors these past two months.

     I'd offered him snacks as one does for the unwell.  Bread crumbs, raisons, crunchy oat something or others, groats, kashi and other oddities from the whole food store.  And Sunflower seed.

     It might be that he thought these offerings a medicine that would poison him, and probably at night he followed mice to see if any of them died from eating that ridiculously expensive long grained rice that tastes like cardboard.

     More likely though he reckoned these offerings a plot by the Grey Cat, because this morning again the floor downstairs was littered with those bits and pieces that make a person reluctant to walk barefoot.

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