I awoke alone this morning because my child bride is visiting a brother in Querétaro. He’s making a long recovery from encephalitis.
Birds, of course, with some rare exceptions, do not fly at night. They sit on a limb or in a nest. If they flew at night they would collide, and dawn would reveal little unconscious birds everywhere.
And they awaken very noisily. All birds, both male and female, greet the dawn like women. They start talking nonstop. It’s a gabfest.
* * * *
Many people store reading material next to the plumbing throne, and I am no exception. But there is something special about my situation.
A decade ago my Spanish was considerably shakier than it is now, so I thumbed these two books while doing my morning business.
I really don’t need these books anymore, but they still sit on the table, and I still flip through them, though rarely finding anything new.
It’s time for a change. Perhaps magazines. I subscribe to two magazines, National Review and Commentary, but I get them on my Kindle. I do all reading on the Kindle, so it appears I will continue doing what I now do:
Looking at the sink. It’s a colorful painted ceramic.
I am open to suggestions for alternatives.
* * * *
I pick up my child bride this afternoon at the bus station in the state capital, so tomorrow I’ll have other stuff on my mind.
* * * *
As I write this, shortly after 7:30 a.m., a hog next door is screaming bloody murder. At times I feel like Old McDonald.