postaday – Page 3 – A Scroll Threw Life

Indigo Bunting leaned against the bar and surveyed the lounge with her usual indolence. There he was resplendent in his ultra violet suit wearing his yellow hair all brushed up to a point like the big ol prissy Cockatiel she was looking for.

He seemed the likely eager green volunteer to her next sensuous hoax. But he was anything but a nookie novice.

She did not know then that he used the nam de plume of Nymphicus Hollandicus for his extensive erotic writings all drawn on first wing exploits. Yes his quill had penned many a blue tail.

His beak had been around the block, so to speak.

Indigo was soon to find out that her’s had bitten off more than she could chew.

So she sidled over to the great bird as she lowered the front zipper of her feather tight red jump suit knowing intimately the effect her astonishing cuttlebone cleavage had. Other fowls would flock to cuddle, yet this one just pecked distractedly at the seed scattered on the bar.

In she swooped and she cooed into the colorful spot on the side of his head, “I am going to squeeze you like an orange.”

“I hope so.” Nymphicus Hollandicus replied with a flapping of wings and an early spring preen.

So they flapped and they soared and they warbled and they twittered and they chirped and they trilled each other until the next morn.

But when the rainbow appeared with the sun it was clear, that Nymphicus Hollandicus had taken it on the wing leaving Inigo Bunting perch-less and seed-less.

Oh dear

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/roy-g-biv/

“I don’t wanna.” I am sure was my initial reaction.

I can not say I remember not knowing, yet I am pretty sure I had to find out sometime.

Or is it instinctual knowledge as monarch butterflies know where to migrate to and from. After all we are trained from the get go to organize our instincts into acceptable reactions, so maybe that knowledge gets short circuited, only to be reintroduced in a more elaborate lesson further down the road.

We have told ourselves, have been told, taught by others, many elaborate stories on the subject of the long dirt nap. Before we ritualized and institutionalized the process I would imagine it was rather like going to sleep in a manner ranging from peacefully to horribly and then waking up dead. I suppose that waking up dead part is where the story begins in some versions and where it ends in others.

From celebrating my grandmothers “last” birthday for the first twenty one years of my life to witnessing my child’s crying jag upon the realization of the apparent inevitable; I felt always aware of the final summation. If the equation is alive or not alive, i can say I have spent a lot more time not alive than alive in the grand scheme of things. So as I walk through this vacation from being not alive the words of Melville always vibrate through every strand of my DNA.

“Wherefore, for all these things, we account the whale immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality.”

So if you are looking for answers I say, “Move along. There is nothing to see here.” You want answers, people got a million of them. In price ranges from free to all your earthly possessions. Up to and including your life. After all, you can’t take it with you. The ultimate sliding scale.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/finite-creatures/

Tag: postaday

For The Birds

Perishable Individuaity