Hummingbirds, Fireflies and Ladybugs

A close friend in Idaho has a daughter who runs fast and enjoys climbing trees. We’ve aptly nicknamed her Firefly. Firefly and I are having a ladybug contest to see if Idaho or Pennsylvania has more. So far the Gem State is winning, but I feel if I get outdoors more our Keystone State could pull ahead with ladybugs. 

Besides lovely ladybugs we talk about butterflies and hummingbirds. I told Firefly about the splendiferous Spring Mills white butterflies and now I want to send her some hummingbird photos. A funny thing about the hovering hummingbird photos I caught is the stern look on their distinct faces. I suppose I’d be serious too, if as an elite flying athlete I wasn’t sure where my next meal was coming from, because someone neglected to fill their vitamin feeder. 

I sent an article out last season about how important this is, to keep your hummingbird feeders maintained. On top of that it’s at least as important to clean the bacteria out of the feeders in between fill ups to keep the hummers from becoming ill. This could further explain the stern look on their faces we’ve been seeing before they ‘tank up’ for the night. 

On a lighter note after our most recent spring ladybug tally-up, I asked Firefly. “What did the guy firefly say to his girlfriend after the rainbow?” Firefly responded, “You glow Girl!”

-->

Pink Rabbits and Flying Dreams

Last night, I had a fanciful dream that I was back at my old Virginia house. I haven’t lived there for decades, but recently went on Google Maps and flew around the woodsy neighborhood a bit. Something, I’ve admired about my father, is that whenever he bought a house, it was always adjacent to some woods, giving us young rapscallions a healthy place to run around to release our energy.

In the dream, I awoke on Saturday daybreak and went outside, barefoot in my pajamas to collect a Washington Post from our snowy driveway. In reality, we lived on a sleepy dead end, but in the dream, cars could now connect into the forest. In fact, it was a bustling thoroughfare now; some elaborate racecars were speeding into the woods, as one or two old jalopies were pulling out and returning to civilization. Even though it was snowy, I was excited to be back, and thought I would take an encompassing walk around the backyard, while waiting for the newspaper. Still barefoot, I walked to the side yard, to see several children shouting with squeals of glee, preparing to sled down our hill. It was a magnificent morning for sledding, and I thought I would trudge up the hill a way, to be closer to the enjoyment. Halfway to the pinnacle, the children easily maneuvered around me on their toy-sleds. While I reached the top, I saw there were several more houses. The furthest yard was filled with dozens of other children, enjoying some festive event. The first few modern houses were quiet and dim, but the ancient house was where the action was. As I approached, I saw a great cauldron of stew boiling over a fire in the front yard, as the happy children continued to dart about, every which-way. It was a four-story grey house, and I tried to picture it from my past. I remembered it being an old house, even back when I was young. Then in the hub of activity, I spied the property owner. She was somebody, I knew from decades ago, but she hadn’t aged much. She had some wild grey curly hair around the fringes of her head, and everyone there respected her with high regard. Trying to be polite, I asked in a curious voice, above the merry din, “How old is this house?” She was elusive with her answer, but smiled, and then kindly but sternly, grabbed me around the forearms, saying, “I remember your kind; I had to straighten you and your brother out a few times, from some of the trouble you caused out here in the woods.” I thought that this wasn’t necessarily true, but perhaps there was a small element to what she spoke. We briefly conversed some more, then I asked what her name was. She spoke a name so peculiar that I knew instantly that I would be incapable of remembering it. It was as if she had cast a spell upon her obscure name, rendering it impossible to recollect, although, I do remember her long singular name had four “i’s” in it. She released me and I trotted a little further down the wet Virginia clay trail. As the snow melted in the late morning forest sun, I came to two more houses that I remembered from childhood: the last one an old blue Victorian, facing Rabbit Run creek. I vaguely recalled some sort of strange happenings there too, but couldn’t penetrate the decades-old memories to put my finger on it yet.

Suddenly, as I spun around in the wet mud, I realized that I was able to fly again. I was flying feet-first with my bare feet sticking out straight ahead of me. Remarkably, the fact that I was able to fly felt quite natural, as it usually does with such flying dreams. This incubated a thought that I would like to turn my body around and fly like Superman to show the Virginians what their prodigal son had learned, while living twenty years in Idaho woods. They will love this! -I thought in a powerful inner celebration, and they will talk about it for decades! My plan was to fly slow motion past the children’s clamor and their holiday cauldron, giving them the broadest smile I could possibly manage. However, when I tried to spin about, to fly face-first like Superman, there was something off with my inner gyroscope. It led me to a higher altitude, and suddenly I was soaring fast, directly behind four space pilots and four astronauts. Those high-flyers were all relying on spacesuits and other backup technologies, so I laughed at them, as I was flying on mind-power alone. It all felt quite fearless, but for some reason, I was unable to switch my inner gears back down to earth, no matter how hard I tried.

Awakening to present day reality, I lay there motionless for several minutes, lightly buzzing about the powerful flying dream. Then, as the dream partially melted away, it occurred to me that those uncanny houses in the woods were never actually there, but rather had been places imagn’d in my childhood dreams. Vivid places I occasionally revisited over the decades, where many events had taken shape and form – enough to record a small history deep in my subconscious. This made me wonder if this all was merely in my mind, or are our minds potentially much more powerful than what my instructors taught, in our Virginia school of thought? Do we somehow mysteriously connect to otherworldly dimensions, where ongoing ethereal events persist in parallel fashions?

Then I realized that I had been sleeping on a sofa brought home recently as a gift from a friend. The sofa is emblazoned with some cute animals, the most notable of which are some pink rabbits dancing on the pillow, which had been pressing against my dreamy head…

ready, break

August Dream

I stepped into the basement that I always knew was beneath our other basement.

What a place to fly!

Through the wall behind the chimney-coal burner, a dazzling light opened.

I stepped into it on my hobble-horse stick and transformed into a flying pogo stick pilot.

Was this what Segway Labs was working on?

I was the only one around the arena that could fly.

I didn’t want to fly too high, but just enough to show the crowd what was possible.

As I cut around some corners, some in the crowd started becoming jealous and leapt up to twist my ankle, while I floated on my broomstick.

It was clear now that I could fly beyond all certainty.

I don’t know why nobody else was flying.

~~

I flew over the mountains based between Hailey & Ketchum

The entire bottom 3 or 4 feet of the mountain range was false.

Google Earth had filled it in with laser beams to make it appear as if sage and trees were there.

But, once I flew -skirting beneath this hologram, I could clearly see it was all-false and heard 2 or 3 Bureau of Land Management scientists pointing out this problem with an ointy-pointy stick.

It was not going to be an easy fix.

& soon the public would see what was going on.