An English In Kentucky


















Sunday November 10th 2013  Tim Candler


      The choice is not an easy one. It's between a little gathering of Lady Birds, wisely sleeping on the ceiling in the corner of my room. Or, maintaining the shine on the shovel blade.  One of the Lady Birds is clearly an insomniac, he or she will occasionally wander around, but always returns to the pod, and when he or she does return to the pod, there is probably Lady Bird muttering, possibly a cruel remark and I say this because I have observed nudging and other signs of general disapproval by the group for any of their number unable to settle into a sensible energy conserving dream-state.  Something I yearn to experience for myself, but because I belong to a genetic predisposition primarily remarkable for its conviction that tool making is the solution to all things, this is not something very likely to happen this side of my grave.

       For my part, I'm concerned for the insomniac Lady Bird, because Lady Bird restlessness invariably means clattering and banging wing carapaces against light bulbs. Fortunately my main light is some sort of soda agitated by the electric jolt passed through it, which hums a little but doesn't cause flying insects to hallucinate portals into other world spaces where our planet has no wobble and is quite without tilt.  It's the bedside light bulb that causes this problem in flying insects, and so long as the shovel blade has a shine, the bedside light remains lit for no more time than it takes to retrieve the pillow, arrange my own blankets and say goodnight to the window ledge Leaping Spider. Who I think is responsible for the occasional Lady Bird wing casing on the table at which I spend far to much time. And, as I'm certain you appreciate, maintaining the shine on the shovel blade has its own dangers to back, shin, knee, elegant wrists, nasal passages and my own wing - or shoulder blade as the medical profession will insist upon calling it.


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