He stood in the middle of the kitchen, wondering why he was there. What had he gone in there for? He glanced around at the various appliances and utensils, hoping one of them would jog his memory. Nothing provided a clue.
He kind of zoned out and began wondering just where his memory actually resided in his body. Was it in his head or mind? Was his mind in his head or was it somewhere else? Did his mind have anything to do with his memory? How could he know if he didn’t remember?
After a bit he finally emerged from his reverie and looked hopefully around the kitchen once again. Nothing!
Shaking his head he left and walked back to the den. He eased down into the rocking chair and as soon as his rear end was seated he remembered what he had gone to the kitchen for.
He also realized the answer to where his memory lived. In his butt.
He was a golden eagle. A grand example of the species.
At least that was true from his outward appearance.
But this eagle had a secret. He had a tremendous fear of high places. The very thought of soaring far above the land and riding the winds filled him with such a dread that he would shake uncontrollably.
Just hours before his birth his mother had an unexpected encounter with some turbulent air from a nearby 747. It caused her to go into free fall and she was barely able to pull out in time to keep from hitting the ground. The experience had a major effect on her nerves. Unfortunately this was transmitted to her soon to be born eaglet.
As he grew into into adulthood and began to seek his mate this fine looking eagle found his fear of flying to be a source of great anxiety. How would the mother of his offspring react to his problem?
He found out quite soon. As they searched for the perfect place to build their nest he kept choosing spots very close to the ground. When she asked him what he had against the top of the tall pines he finally had to tell her about his phobia. After he finished she shook her head and said it was just her luck to fall in love with a penguin in eagle’s feathers.
But they adapted. She let him choose a nesting place that was on the side of a mountain. It was behind a big pine tree but on the ground. Papa eagle concluded that technically it was already high in the air so it wouldn’t be necessary for him to fly.
When they had their eaglets he became quite adept at scurrying about the floor of the forest to procure food.
His mate called him the fastest “chicken” on the earth.
It was getting dark and he still had a couple of blocks to go before he got home. He had been late leaving work and now he was paying a price. He didn’t know why but he was apprehensive. Something didn’t feel right.
About halfway along the middle of the final block he abruptly stopped. At the corner of the building ahead something lurked. Something awful. He couldn’t see whatever it was but he knew it was there. Waiting for him.
What to do? He had to go home and there was no other way for him to get there.
Why was he so unnerved? Suddenly he knew. He’d had a horrible nightmare during the early morning hours. He had come awake with a sudden jolt, gasping for breath and shaking all over. He couldn’t remember any details but he knew he had awakened just before the nightmare had ended…so he hadn’t seen how it ended. Now he felt a knot of dread growing in his stomach. He was going to come face to face with whatever he had missed at that early morning moment.
He slowly moved closer to the corner of the building. He got so close he felt that if he tried he could probably hear whatever was waiting for him as it breathed. But he didn’t. Before he could completely lose his nerve and flee in the opposite direction he took that final step and turned to face what was waiting.
And…nothing was there.
I like weeds. They’re hardy and will grow just about anywhere. They don’t require tilling and feeding with some special fertilizer. Lots of them are good to eat and many have beautiful flowers.
I don’t know why weeds got such a bad rap. It it weren’t for them some places would be really barren, funky looking affairs. Consider how dreary those wonderful high mountain meadows would be without all those wildflowers (weeds) ablaze with their blooms.
During those dry summers when the lawn of St. Augustine grass looks bedraggled the crabgrass can be counted on to remain nice and green. And, of course, we can always depend on dandelions to proliferate and supply a good show of yellow flowers.
I like weeds. God created them so He certainly must think they are important. I’m not inclined to question God’s opinion?
So…all together now…let’s hear it for the weeds. “Yea weeds. Live long and prosper.”
The owner of the duplex hates dandelions. He considers them a blasted nuisance, spreading all over his precious lawn. He says they multiply worse than rabbits. He spends hour after hour digging them up. He tells his tenant next door he can’t figure out where they all come from.
The tenant loves dandelions. Everything about them is wonderful. They make great additions to a salad and hot dandelion tea can’t be beat. And then there are the beautiful yellow blooms. Ah, but the seeds. They are a special delight the way the breeze can scatter them about. What a wonderful thing.
As the afternoon winds down and dusk approaches the landlord finishes his dandelion digging and retires to his home for the night.
Hearing that door close the tenant opens his and steps outside. He eases off the porch and heads down the road to a large meadow not too far away. It’s one of his favorite places and it’s full of dandelions. After sitting amongst them for awhile he arises and begins his return walk to his home.
Upon arrival however, before going inside, he smiles and quietly walks all around the lawn gently sowing all those seeds he brought back with him.