Aries in The The Spring

Monday afternoon. There’s a cool gray sunlight just beyond my window. I can almost taste it. The lungs of the earth are turning green – but not so’s you can see directly. You have to catch it from out of the corner of your eye, like a Magic Eye painting, or Santa Claus kissing your mother. Birds fly past in single file, evenly spaced.

Occasionally I’ll look up from my work and glimpse a woman in a dress walking through Battery Park. The weather, albeit getting warmer, isn’t quite to that stage but I, for one, appreciate the effort.  Sunglasses. The flash of perfect teeth like the rifle shot of a silent laugh viewed from forty yards distant.

In that instant my brain explodes in a warm shower of sparks and light, wet lightning rippling through the room divided atop my spinal column, the pink, post-coital afterglow of a spectacular orgy containing 20 million volumes of information. When the dust settles, I’m left with three primal elements: legs, hair and boots. Christ, I’m like a house cat on a window ledge watching cars pass by. Eyes wide and wearing the same incredulous expression, shifting my hind legs as though I were prepared to pounce on a toy mouse.

And away she goes…

An older man passes by in the opposite direction; long, greasy hair slopped back in a wet ponytail and heavy work boots thudding along the concrete. Muttering to himself. What really stands out is the enormous brown fur coat he’s sporting, and the fact that he’s viciously scratching his forehead as though he were trying to peel a potato, win a free meal, or dig out his third eye.

When I look up again the lighting has changed. Suddenly it’s three months ago, and there’s nothing on these trees but plastic sacks and hard-carved love notes high on the trunks.  To: dead people. From: other dead people. The light will change again, and I’ll be ready.

There is no greater high than being an Aries male in the Springtime. This is our season. We were here first. (Also: The Scottish invented thumbs. Before us, you lot were stuck scooping porridge off the ground with a flat rock. Thank a Scotsman today. And by ‘thank him’ I mean ‘get him drunk’.

Crouching low in the windowsill, it’s

(from my iPhone)

 

 

 

 

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4 thoughts on “Aries in The The Spring

    1. Thank you! I’m presently rooming with two Maine coons; their expressions switch from expectation to indignation to bored indifference to “I can haz?” in *seconds*… Amazing to watch.

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