I have watched a myriad Of red and green lights . . . → Read More: Literal City]]> I wrote this wee poem back in late 2008 when things were not so grand in the land of Davis.  I found it today by accident while perusing one of my backup drives.  It speaks for itself, I think. 

I have watched a myriad
Of red and green lights reflect
In the cloudy rivers edge
When night has settled on this city.

I have trod around the broken green
And clear glass shards on the asphalt,
The flattened blue and silver beer cans
And licking smoke trails of spent ciggies.

I have heard the bellow of engines pass,
The screak of tyres as they brake,
The snares and drums of stereos
That blast from cars stopped at lights.

The smell of damp alley-ways,
From exhaust and discarded crisps
Half drowned in petrol runoff
Assault the air on nights like this.

I have felt the vacuum of empty streets
Between the buildings, wet and cold
With bits of dust and trash and rain
From construction cages on new buildings.

I have turned my back and walked away,
Peered down at the river from the bridge,
Seen amorphous ripple shivers there
And favoured them to the literal city.

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Feet dragging from the bedroom to the cool kitchen tiles.

Weary eyes peer out the window pane over the sink to find a moonlit wind swept drive.

Peek into a mysterious cupboard to discover Early Grey awaiting a pour.

Half and Half or Straight?

Hot kettle screeches a wakening tune breaking the subdued silence of twilight.

Inhalation of steamy rousing . . . → Read More: Twilight Tea]]> Sleepy eyes.

Feet dragging from the bedroom to the cool kitchen tiles.

Weary eyes peer out the window pane over the sink to find a moonlit wind swept drive.

Peek into a mysterious cupboard to discover Early Grey awaiting a pour.

Half and Half or Straight?

Hot kettle screeches a wakening tune breaking the subdued silence of twilight.

Inhalation of steamy rousing aromas.

Sip…

A familiar knock at the door.

Jingling keys.

Door slowly opens.

Silhouette comes into view.

A becoming smile.

Strawberry golden ringlets glistening in the moonlight.

Green eyes gleaming that of a flightless sprite.

…

“I’m sorry”, says she.

A long embrace laden with the scents of Grey Goose and ciggies.

“Cuppa tea?”  Says I while searching for a cup in the esoteric parallels of the cupboards..

“You and your teas”, says she, laughingly, while digging around in the icebox.

Laughter and tears ensue as the sun awakes the worlds clocks.

….

Morning birds chirp a sunny harmony.

Twilight tea, a good woman, and dumb sod, me.

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buzz….Ring….buzz…Ring….Ring

I awake to a fuzzy and out of focus bedroom with moonlight still filtering through the curtains.  An eerie tune pierces my subconscious, as I glance over to find my mobile vibrating across the bedside table.  I go to grab it . . . → Read More: Daring Moonbeams]]> I lay in a deep slumber after a week of travelling and an arduous workload. 

buzz….Ring….buzz…Ring….Ring

I awake to a fuzzy and out of focus bedroom with moonlight still filtering through the curtains.  An eerie tune pierces my subconscious, as I glance over to find my mobile vibrating across the bedside table.  I go to grab it but my arms are not quite obeying my brain yet.  Finally, I make more effort and am able to grab it.  I gaze, vision still blurry, at the caller id and lay in shock for a moment.

It can’t be.  What’s she doing calling me after all of this time?

In disbelief, I answer the incoming call.

“Hello”, I mumble in disbelief.

“Hello stranger”, a quirky feminine voice says.

“What time is it?”  I demand while wiping sleepiness from my eyes.

“It’s time for you quit dreaming and talk to me.  It’s 9A.M. and brilliant out.”  She states in a chipper tone.

“Aaarrgghh….That means it is 4A.M. here”, I exclaim while trying to get my bearings.

“Early to bed, early to rise, right?”

“Auld Ben would be proud to know that his proverbs are still being reverberated around the globe”, I mutter whilst primping.

“I would hope so, yes.”

“I’m very glad to hear from you, but it’s early so what are you after?”

The silence and lulling buzz of thousands of miles of wires is deafening.

Don’t screw this up JD.  She called for something. 

“I’m sorry.  It’s just early and you know how I am before dawn”, I utter in an apologetic fashion hoping to hear her beauteous vocalisations again.

“I called because….”  Her voice broke while trying to tell me why she was calling.

“It’s alright.  You can tell me.”

“I…..   I had a dream about you last night.  I dreamt that I was walking alone in a moony ancient misty woodland.  instinctively, I walked between two rows of old oak trees.  I searched through the hauntingly thick fog to no avail.  I could only see the naked limbs of the trees stretching out and almost touching one another above my head.  I peered through the bare branches to discover a clear yet starless night sky.  Only a lone and focused moonbeam lit the path ahead of me….”

“Oh, this is getting good…”  Says i with a wee bit of a humorous tone.

“Don’t interrupt.  Anyway, as I was saying, I was following this moonbeam through an ancient woodland when a silhouette came into focus.  I couldn’t tell who it was but I felt that I had to reach that person, so I walked faster being guided by the brilliant moonlight.  The light stopped and shone on the person at the end of the forest.  Suddenly I realised that it was you standing at a fork in the path spreading out in four directions.  You motioned for me to come closer.  My heart was racing, as I jumped into your warm embrace.  You grabbed my hand and a brilliant white light flooded the dark forest with rays of a warm summers day.  In an instance, we were standing atop a mountain overlooking a valley covered in wildflowers….”

“Wow”, I yell in awe of her incredible story.

“Almost finished so zip it.  Anyhow, we ran through the wildflowers hand in hand laughing and….”

“What else did we do?”

“You took me to a clearing in the tall wildflowers where a cloth had been laid and food was waiting.  We talked and laid there for hours and you promised to never leave me.  We fell asleep in each others arms.  I awoke to find myself back in the misty woodland.  I searched and cried your name in that lonesome place for what seemed for an eternity.  I woke up this morning screaming your name.”  She cried, whilst trying to hold back her emotions.

“I bet yer husband didn’t like that?”  I laughingly enquire.

“We…We are separated.   I couldn’t care less what that gobshite thinks.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I tried to make it work but we got married for all of the wrong reasons”, she answers, as her tears rush through the phone weakening my knees.

“I’m sorry.  I know….”

“Dammit, it’s yer fault”, she exclaims whilst squalling.

“How is it my fault”, I demand in a serious tone.

“Because…Because, I still love you, Jefferson Day-vees.”

A great chill ran down my spine as a lone tear ran down my sleepy countenance.  I had waited so long to hear those words from her. 

“I have never stopped loving you, my dear”, Says I, as a warm surge of life leapt back into my body. 

“Well then, come and see me, and let us see how it goes.  I can’t the weight of being without you any longer.”  She pleads whilst breaking down over the phone.

“I’ll be on the next plane out, so I should be there by tomorrow morning”, Says Iin a hurried manner.

“Call me back as soon as you get an arrival time and gate number.  I’ll be there to pick you up.  I love you.”

“I love you too.  I’ll see you soon.”

The next thing I knew, I was packed and on a plane crossing the Atlantic.  As the plane approached and crossed over the familiar rolling green hills, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that she’d be in my arms in just under an hour.  While looking out at the cloudless horizon, which was rare for this area around this time of year, I discovered a bright orb approaching our position at an incredible speed.  It was flying towards the very window overlooking the left wing that I was facing. 

Suddenly, I was blinded by the incredible radiance emanating from the orb. 

I jumped from my seat screaming her name and realised seconds later that I was back in my bedroom alone.  It took several minutes of head scratching to realise that the entire episode was just a mere dream and that I was back in the real world. 

Exhausted and in disarray from such an eerie dream, I slowly looked out the window to see a bright and tepid Saturday morning.  So, I got ready and went for a walk in the sunshine to clear my head.

Sometimes I wonder why we have such whacky dreams.  Mind you, I had to fill in a few gaps where the woolgathering memory lapses.  I’ve never been able to understand why I and others can remember our dreams and others can’t recall anything from a dream.  I think our dreams are an effort of our subconscious  enacting what we truly want.  Some may dream of flying into space, while others may dream of changing something in their lives or hearing words they’ve wanted to hear but know they’ll never hear. 

Dreamland is a mysterious place to visit but not a place to stay. 

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Last . . . → Read More: Lady in Black]]> I have for years been terrified of getting involved with a woman that my father has had relations with in the past.  In fact, I have asked women in the past if they knew of my father.  He’s a great man and all, but…ahem…to say he’s a ladies man would be putting it lightly. 

Last night, I was at a wake for my grandaunt.  She was a great lady and will be missed by me and the rest of the family.  But, we know that she’s in a better place.  While at the reception of sorts last eve, a gorgeous dark-haired woman walked into the vestibule.  She was wearing a netted at the top black blouse, a short black skirt, black stockings, and black knee high boots. 

I was standing with two Uncle’s and a cousin discussing something that I could have cared less about.  I couldn’t keep my eyes off the woman.  She stood in the doorway and stared back at me for what must have been ten minutes.  I turned away and started a conversation with another cousin, not wanting to be obvious or weird.  She walked to where I was, looked me up and down, but never uttered a word. 

She walked over to my grandmother and talked to her for a few minutes.  Her dark eyes and black dress stood out from the crowd and she knew it.  I didn’t figure it right to introduce myself and flirt at a wake, so when she left, I started asking around trying to get a grasp on who she was.  She could’ve been the devil for all I knew.

Later on last night, I discovered who she was but that was just the beginning of the story.  Have you ever seen someone from across a room and knew that there was something there and that you had to speak to that person and find out more about them?  It has happened to me on a few occasions, last night being one of them.

The internment was this afternoon, so I was hoping to catch up with her today.  She didn’t show up but I figured I’d find out more from my cousin who she knew. 

After the service, I called my father and told him about the lady in black.  I described her perfectly.  He paused for a minute and started telling me that he knew her.  To make an x-rated story short, he told me that he used to know her very well.  My pops has since straightened his life out and is living the way he should. 

Uncle Elathon stopped by my house earlier.  He laughed when I told him the story, and said, “It’d be your luck to fall in love with a woman with a son or daughter and to find out that the kid would be your brother or sister”. 

I laughed, and said, “My greatest fear is to fall in love with a woman and find out that she’s my half sister or something”!

Almost spilling his coffee with laughter, he asked, “Is that why you go to Ireland so you don’t have your father to compete with?”.

“Shut up and drink yer coffee auld fella.”

I don’t go to Ireland or anywhere else looking for women.  The usually find me. 

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On the second day, we finished the arduous job and . . . → Read More: Brooding Mare]]> A few days ago, Dr. Don and myself went over to my mothers ranch to clean out horse stalls.  We spent two days hauling truckloads of horse manure and soiled sawdust out of the stalls and barn.  We replaced it all with fresh and clean sawdust. 

On the second day, we finished the arduous job and I proceeded to wrangle the horses back to the field that leads to the barn.  I grabbed a scoop of my mothers specially mixed equine feed and walked out into the muddy field where I had them secured. 

I walked close to the six of them, including one gelding and five mares.  I whistled for them to follow and shook the feed bucket.  They happily came running thinking that it was feeding time.  At the same time, Dr. Don was watching from a safe distance.  He’s afraid of horses!

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by them with nowhere to go.  As I laid the bucket down and started shooing Sunny, one of the mares, back, the gelding decided he wanted the entire bucket for himself.  Docxy, the eldest mare and my favourite out of the bunch, side kicked him in the arse coming within centimetres of me.

Remembering my father getting kicked and almost killed, I turned to Dr. Don with an ashen face and eyes as big as feed buckets and waited for him to say something.

He’s always insightful.

He walked up with a blank countenance, put one leg up on the rustic fencing, spit his beloved chewing tobacco, and said, “Yep………..I told you women are cruel, and you didn’t believe me”.

I couldn’t do anything except laugh.  The gelding is fine except for his pride.  I guess he’ll stay out of the head bitches feed bucket from now on. 

Me?

Life is grander than it has been in a long while and only getting better.  I’ve been out chasing after mares every night since.  The two legged kind.  

P.S.: The song, I’m Alive, is by Kenny Chesney and Dave Mathews.  I had to add something a wee bit country western to any post that speaks of horses and manure. 

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I remember that it was 117 fence post to . . . → Read More: Davis’]]> Tuesday evening, I decided to go up to my grandfathers house up in the mountains.  I hadn’t been up there since he died back in 1998.  I honestly didn’t think I could find the place, but I went anyway for the adventure and brief jaunt down memory lane.

I remember that it was 117 fence post to the south to the church and 95 fence post to the north to a girls house that I had a crush on for years.  Gramps and myself would set out around sunset and watch the cows and horses graze on the lush lucerne and fescue covering the mountainside.  I learned a lot about life from observing those animals.  Grandpa Davis wasn’t a talker, he was a doer. 

He walked softly and carried a big stick.  I never saw the man get angry except for maybe one or two times in the 26 years I knew him.  His hair was as white as the cotton he picked as a child, and he was as tall and slender as the cotton mill smoke stacks that he worked in most of his adult life.  He was the very essence of the phrase, Facta Non Verba. 

Everyone knew and loved him far and wide.  He retired not long after I was born.  The earliest memory I have is of him almost getting mauled by my dog, a huge German shepherd named Zack.  I was five or six and he was playfully chasing me around on Christmas morning.  He started tickling me, I started screaming and laughing, and gramps almost lost his arm due to a very overly protective dog.  Grandpa and the Zack didn’t get along well after that. 

Anyhow, let’s go back to Tuesday evening, shall we?

I turned onto the street that he lived as the sun filtered through the coloured leaves setting atop a vast hillside that runs along with the curvature of the road.  I was shocked at how so little had changed, as I pulled up the gravel driveway.  The enormous oak tree in the front yard that gramps planted, when he and my granny moved in the house over fifty years ago, had grown a little but not much with the passage of time.  The roses and hedges looked almost the same.

I was shocked yet again, when I finally arrived at the back of the house.  There were people and cars parked in his driveway.  As it turns out, the house is rented to some folks.  I called me pops to verify that it was indeed being rented.  I don’t have a problem with him renting it, I just thought it had been empty for a bit.  Anyway, I turned around and continued down the long country road.

A few minutes later my mother called, so I had to pull into a strangers driveway, a long and narrow drive.  After I hung up with her, I tried to do a three point turn but the road was too narrow.  Pulling onto someone’s land up in the mountains is a very dangerous proposition.  Mountain folk don’t like strangers.

I ended up having to drive all the way down the road that ended at an log cabin.  There were cars parked in the garage, so I turned around.  Pops called me back and I told him I’d call back due to my whereabouts.  He told me to just say that I’m a Davis and they’d leave me alone.  I didn’t believe that for a moment.

Just as I was about to pull off, an auld grey haired fella in overalls and what looked like a twenty year-old baseball cap came running out with a shotgun demanding, “What are ye doin’ ‘ere boy”? 

I nervously rolled down the drivers side window, put my hands out, and answered, “I’m just turning around, sir”.

“Ye ain’t got no business ‘ere boy.”  He exclaimed, as he walked closer to the truck.

The sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie passed my nostrils, as his wife, still wearing a cooking apron, peered through the screen door.

“I’m sorry sir, I just got lost…I was down the road visiting my grandfathers old place”, I mumbled, as the man approached with his gun by his side.

“….Now don’t let me catch ya back down ‘ere…aga…Who was yer grandpa?”

“D*** Davis, sir.”

“Yer L**** Davis’ boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well I declare, Ester, get out ‘ere.  This is D*** Davis’ grandson.”, he hollered as the lady of the house came running out.

She stopped dead in her tracks, when I stepped out of the truck. 

“Dear Jesus, you look just like yer dad, she yelled as the auld fella patted me on the back. 

They told me stories about my dad and grandad, and ironically about myself, when I was knee high to a grasshopper.  All in all, it was a good visit down memory lane. 

Moral of story:

Sometimes trips down memory lane can be a bit dangerous yet entertaining and informative at the same time. 

Video is “Have you ever seen the rain?", by CCR.  It doesn’t fit, but it was playing on the radio when I met Mr. Shotgun. 

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I made the campsite arrangements over . . . → Read More: Campin’]]> On the 13th of this month, Dr. Don, his three boys, and myself went on a camping trip up to the mountains.  I had promised them a camping trip several months back and the start of school was near.  So, we headed up the winding roads with camping gear and food.

I made the campsite arrangements over the phone.  I asked the kind lady to give us a riverside site close to the trail entrance.  I knew we’d be carrying a lot of gear up the rocky trail and wanted to make it as easy as possible on the lads. 

We arrived and geared up.  I carried 80lbs. worth of supplies in my backpack along with the tent and a lantern.  After going about a mile up the trail, we collapsed at the first bivouac.  It was number eight, so I left the kids and headed further up by myself to see what the next number was.  The next one was number nine.  I surmised that the lady put me at the other end of the trail which was another seven miles up a craggy path.

After talking to a few hikers, we decided to take number eight since no one was using it.  After all, I paid for a full size site, so it was not like I would be cheating the park service out of any money. 

The kids went fishing while I put up the tent.  Dr. Don’s only duty was to bring dry wood.  He brought WET wood.  It took us about half an hour to get the fire roaring.  He crashed in the tent, and I started unpacking supplies.  The boys returned with a bucket full of wee trout for eating.

I decided to return to the truck to get some fuel for the lantern.  I discovered the ranger looking at my truck, when I got to the parking lot.  He asked what site we were on and I explained our wee dilemma.  We went to the rangers station to see if anyone would be staying on #8 that night.  Unfortunately, someone was supposed to be on that site that evening, so he checked to see if anything close was available. 

Luckily, #9 was available, so I headed back up the trail with the bad news that we’d have to move.  I told the lads that there was a much better site on the other side of the ridge and proceeded to pack up the tent and supplies. 

Again, we headed up the rocky path to our new destination.  We arrived and unpacked yet again.  The youngsters played in the river, as I worked on yet another fire.  Dr. Don took another nap!  You would truly be amazed how quickly a fire can boost moral.

Dr. Don’s oldest son and myself worked on the fire for almost an hour before we got it roaring.  The lads wanted to cook their fish over the fire.  I laughed and told them how good they were going to taste when the guts exploded.  So, I taught the boys how to clean fish.  We cooked steaks, trout, and beans over the open flame.  Protein is a must when out in the wilderness. 

As darkness fell over the pine laden mountain range, the lads roasted marshmallows and told scary stories.  I sat back and inhaled the crisp mountain air.  There’s nothing better for what ails you than a bit of time with nature.  It helps us appreciate what we have. 

We all turned in quite early, exhausted from the trip.  But, about midnight nature called and I had to oblige its beckoning.  When I returned from the woodlands illuminated by a lantern, I discovered a figure sitting by the fire.  Dr. Don’s eldest was up as well.  He couldn’t sleep, so we decided to make a late night trip back to the truck to get more water for the morning. 

Only illumined by the wee lantern, we found the trail brimming with life.  We encountered field rats, eastern diamondback rattlesnakes, and king snakes.  We were very wary of the diamondbacks!  It would be unwise to leave one’s tent open at night.  They like warm places.

The next morning we got up and made a unanimous decision to hike up to Rainbow Falls which is only about three more miles up the trail.  However, it is one of the hardest trails to hike around due to the 2,000 foot ascent.

The boys were so excited and in such a hurry that we missed the turn off.  We continued on Jone’s Gap Trail ‘til we reached Jone’s Gap Falls.  We were content with that, so we settled down and let the boys play on the slippery rocks for about an hour.  They climbed the rocks and slid down to the collecting poll at the bottom of the falls.  I had a blast just watching them have so much fun.

We arrived back to our tent without any water.  I have excellent water purification skills but did not want to take a chance on the lads getting sick.  So, we packed up and headed home.  The lot of us went home exhausted yet happy.  The lads are still telling stories of our escapades in the woods, and I have a new appreciation for the loo!  

P.S.:  Like a true eejit, I left me camera at the door on my way out.  All photos were taken with my phone.  A bit crappy, but eh? 

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2009 . . . → Read More: To Blog?]]> I’ve been having a rough go at it this last year.  It was a year ago today that I quit my job and started making plans to leave the states.  Plans don’t always come to fruition.  In a way this was a good thing.  I learned from my mistakes and will not make them again. 

2009 did not start out any better.  I suffered financially for months, but again, I gained more than I lost.  Sometimes things happen for a reason.  People tend to blame ‘God’ for everything that goes awry in their lives.  I do not believe that God puts us in bad situations.  It is of our own doing the majority of the time.  I do believe in free will.  What happens in our lives is up to us!

We can’t stand back and hope that good things will happen to us, we have to make them happen.  If you want to be a famous musician or mogul, you’ve got to make it happen.  It takes dedication and a lot of sweat.  It is true, however, in America and elsewhere in the civilised world that it is not what you know but who you know.  This vexes me but it is a part of life we have to contend with just like disabilities or other problems that inhibit our abilities.

Recently, I became aware that the server that this blog resides on was about to expire.  I could renew the contract with the server company for another two years for a nominal fee or just let it go into the ether of the internet.  I struggled with this for a while, not really knowing what to do.  On the one hand, it is an archive or my work and on the other it’s archive of mistakes.  It’s a double edged sword or sorts. 

So, I called a dear friend yesterday and the subject of the blog came up.  I told her that I was going to shut it down.  She threatened to come o’er here and kick my arse for doing such a vile act.  She really inspired me saying that my poems and pictures bring hope and beauty into the lives of those that view them.  She went on to say that the world needs more people like me to be inspirational in tough times such as these. 

In an enquiry that was not about vanity but about honesty, I said that life is a play and somewhere along the way I’d like to get up on stage if only for a moment.  She told me to fight.  To get out and fight for a spot rather than let my stomach curl up into a ball of knots.  She went on to say that I should knock those that never paid their dues off their pedestals and fight the actus reus of the world with an iron maul.  She may not be my lady anymore, but she is one hell of a friend.

After her pep talk, I decided to keep the blog going.  The world isn’t getting rid of Jefferson Davis just yet!  First thing Monday morning, I’m going to pick a fight with a newspaper editor.  I want and deserve a job, dammit!  

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She was wearing a very tight jersey and an even tighter short leather skirt.  . . . → Read More: Knee in Mouth]]> The other night, Red and myself were in city centre observing the whacky towners.  We sauntered down main street after leaving the Pub.  A crowd of young women met us at the crosswalk.  One of them caught my eye, as we crossed paths.

She was wearing a very tight jersey and an even tighter short leather skirt.  It looked as though she had painted it on.  In my stupidly half inebriated state, I said something that I would normally never ever say.  I blame the ‘Merkan version of Guinness.

“Damn gurl, did you have to melt that thing on, or did it come attached to yer hips?”

She smiled and kept walking, her friends giggling in the background.

Next thing I knew, I was getting slapped in the back of the head.  I don’t know what for.  I was just genuinely concerned for the girls well being.  

So, I pulled Red to the side at the bridge and whispered one of my best lines, as the setting sunrays made her ginger ringlets radiate like threads of gold. 

She playfully started trying to knee me, where I didn’t need to be kneed.  Accidently, she went a bit high with her playful game and I hit a higher note.  I let on that it was worse than it was, so she and I hobbled back to me truck. 

All is well now, thankfully.

I must have a target on my head that only women see!  

Moral of rambling:  Keep your big mouths shut, men. 

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I discovered something disturbing on . . . → Read More: Redneck Beatdown]]> Sunday afternoon I was at my grandmothers enjoying pintos and cornbread.  It’s a fathers day tradition for my family.  After two bowls and too much cornbread, I reclined with my Uncle to listen to the coven of rumourmongers.   I was so bored by the gossip that I started counting me own freckles.

I discovered something disturbing on my left arm.  I found what looked to be a cross between a freckle and a mole.  It was black in colour but perfectly symmetrical.  The entire clan started inspecting it and stating that I should have it checked out.  By the time I went home, I was a bit freaked out.  ( I know, too much information, but I’m getting to the point.)

There is a history of melanoma in my family that goes back three generations.  My Aunt died of it, and my Uncle found a similar spot that was spotted in time.  Grandmother lives in the shadows.  Her house is like a crypt.  We used to pick at her for covering every patch of skin in the heat of Summer, but now we understand why she covered herself up so well. 

Monday morning, I made an appointment with a dermatologist.  I couldn’t see him until Tuesday, so I was a wee bit unhinged yesterday.  The glass is half full, I cogitated whilst entering the doctors office.  The thought of cancer is about the only thing really scares me.  I’ve conquered everything else!  I watched it slowly ravage my Aunt. 

The doctor and myself went over my records, meds, and family history.  He had a good look at it and smiled.  He said that I should keep an eye on it, but at this time he didn’t feel that it was anything to worry about.  He went on to tell me what to look for and to contact him if anything changed. 

I left a very relieved man.  I dodged the proverbial bullet, so to speak.  So, I went to work a very happy man.

Tuesday evening, Red and I were driving towards my house.  We encountered seven boyos standing in the middle of a dark road with their shirts off.  Evidently, I interrupted a redneck beatdown.  It is tradition here to rip one’s shirt and accessories off before taunting the opponent.  I do my best to avoid fighting with anyone.  It’s not worth it.  On the occasions that I have fought, there were no taunts coming from me, just fist full of rage.  I’m a doer, not a talker.

Kids today think they are tough.  Please!  I’ve rode horseback and lived in a tent for days on end!  I’ve spent weeks in Love Valley, NC with a leaky tent and a disturbed stud that enjoyed knocking me off and scratching his back on riverbanks every chance he got.  His name was Skipper.  Every time I got knocked off, my dad made me get back in the saddle. 

Anyway, I continued with course and speed.  They stood in the middle of the street, puffing their chests out and motioning for me to bring it on.  Stupid teenage redneck wannabes.  We busted into laughter.

The fact that we were laughing enraged them further.  I rolled down the window.  She laughed even harder, while punching me in the arm and motioning for me to roll up the window.

Yo man, we’re tryin’ tah settle ah score out ‘ere, what be u’r prablem?   One of them asked whilst glaring at the passenger.

If you and your pals don’t get out of the street right now, I’m going to run your arses over, I hollered whilst glowering at him. 

His dilated eyes darted back and forth, as he smirked.

I gave him the infamous Carolina don’t f**k with me look, and he motioned for them to get out of the street.

We rolled on, laughing…

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Normally, I would have brushed him off as an . . . → Read More: A flash of broken Mirrors]]> Wednesday afternoon I was in city centre doing a quick walkabout to stretch my legs.  As I sauntered past the white collar littered promenade at lunchtime, a crowd of suits sped past me.  One of them pushed me and my camera gear up against a brick building facade.

Normally, I would have brushed him off as an eejit and went on my way.  But, I had something eating at my gut, so this little incident sent me slightly over the edge.  I have nothing against people in suits.  I have a lot of suits.  I enjoy looking professional, but being that I’m a country boy, I am much more comfortable in denims and a t-shirt.

“What is your problem?” 

He turned around, looked at me, whispered something to a cohort, laughed, and continued on his way.

Just the mere mannerisms and holier than though attitude infuriated me further, so I bit my bottom lip and lectured, “Between me and my family, we pay over a ****** ******* dollars to this state alone every year, so as long as I’m following the laws and mores  of our wee society, I’ll walk where, when, and how I want…I’d be more careful of who I knock over, if I were you”.

“Oh Yeah?”  He enquired whilst cockily crossing his arms and snickering with his twenty something pals.

“Yeah”, I boldly stated.

“Who’s your father then, tough guy?”

““*** Davis.”

“The *** Davis?”

“The one and only”, I answered whilst sighing.

“You’re kidding me, right?”  He jokingly asked whilst destroying a piece of gum.

“No.”

“*** Davis has no son…he has three girls.  I know him.  My firm, *********, does work for him”, he laughingly hollered as a crowd gathered.

“He has six children, whether you know it or not”, I muttered while turning to walk away.

“If I were you, I’d be more careful about lying to make yourself feel big", the chump yelled whilst pushing his comrades forward.

The English lady from the coffee house that I was standing in front of patted me on the back and told me not to mind him.  I had a café noir fuelled walk and went home.

Later that night, I was sitting here at my desk fuming about what the bloke said.  As hard as it was to swallow, it was almost the truth.  I had not talked to him in months.  We had a wee bit of a falling out over a wee money issue.  I had called his phone on numerous occasions and left messages trying to rectify the situation, but to no avail.

I went to the kitchen cupboards to fetch some Earl Grey and there peering out of the dark recess was a brand new bottle of a precious beverage from Ireland.  I grabbed one of my grandfathers favourite glasses and the green bottle.  Humour flowed from a TV show I rarely miss loosely based on the FDNY as well as the bottle. 

A crack of thunder rattled the windows, as I searched the darkness for the incoming light show.  The rain had lightly been pelting against the office window all night.  While trying to grab a ciggy and a light, I stumbled a bit not realising how much I had consumed.

I stood at the back door and gazed out into the blackness of the garden.  While smoking that one ciggy, a thought popped into my bevvied head.  So, I grabbed my keys and phone and headed out the door. 

I ran from one wet street to another until I approached the main thoroughfare.  Soaked from head to toe, I stopped and gawped at the quarter moon peering through a gap in the heavy mist.  I gazed at the moon, while standing on that sidewalk, enquiring as to why things are the way they are.  Then, a suburban whizzed by covering me in road muck.

So, I decided to run to the 24hr bistro, encountering heavy raindrop laden puddles, like broken mirrors illuminated by lightning strikes along my path.  When I got to the bistro, one of the waitresses that I know offered me a towel to dry off and brought me a cup of coffee.  She asked if I was alright, and of course, I said I was fine.  She knew better because I never show up in the middle of the night.  She told me to call Red, an off and on again petite amie.

12:30AM  Ring…ring…ring…ring

“Hello”, she whispered.

“Hey”, I hollered in a half inebriated manner.

“What time is it?”  She pleaded as the ruffling of covers and feathers could be heard over the phone.

“It’s 12:30.  I’m at the bistro.  I need you to pick me up so we can talk.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?”  She enquired with a bit of disdain in her tone.

“No.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Only slightly”, I uttered whilst trying not to laugh.

Click

I reasoned that she was mad at me for waking her up, so I finished my coffee.  The kind waitress offered to call me a cab, but I benignantly refused.  I took my time walking home.  The thunderous storm had passed and a murkiness thick enough to cut through with one’s body had settled in its place. 

It was around 1:30 in the morning, when I turned onto my street.  I sneakingly walked past the other houses, hoping not to wake my ever alert grandmother that lives two houses down. 

By the time I approached my front yard, the audaciousness and silliness had wavered.  I discovered a glint of something on my front stoop.  Scared, I drew closer.  A figure came into view through the vapours.  I got closer and realised it was…

It was her.  She walked up to me shivering, her countenance filled with rage and worry.

Slap

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again”, she whispered in my ear.

I had never been prouder than at that moment.  It was not my intention to worry her or anyone else, but it was nice to know that she cares.

For Her:

Freckles is a savage word.

How about dapples of lust,

Honey sisters,

Blunders of the Sun,

Love in lace,

Damsel’s shivers,

Silent baubles,

Caramel kisses,

Blotch of arcs,

Or a serene flock?

To Pops:  Happy Fathers Day, dude!  You’ll always be my pops, and I hope to make you proud one day.  A little bit of time is all I’m asking for.

P.S.:  Drinking and smoking are not things that I condone or would suggest that anyone start.  I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can get away with the occasional drink or gasper.

P.P.S.:  Most of us have father issues in one form or another.  Our fathers are our fathers no matter what.  Tis best to love them, because we never know when we or them may not wake up one morning. 

Honour thy Father and thy Mother.

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