A Sip of Sherry

The sun sets, darkening the trees and graying the shadows that cross the meadow. Upstairs, I sit and sip my sherry aperitif. My mind wanders.

A rectangular flat face set in front of a bulky body, sleek skin like a scale-less snake, all held on four oddly stiff legs. No neck to speak of. Not exactly a sight for sore eyes; more like a sore sight for eyes.

This bears investigation. Arching my back in a languorous stretch, I pretend indifference and then approach the unknown. Smelling the air cloaking the creature, I find nothing that indicates anything. I step closer, stretch my neck forward, and squint hard. Grays, half-blacks, blacks and whites make uncertain shapes across its face. I move a bit closer as I try to discern a recognizable pattern, and can now see … there is no pattern. It moves. Undulating, sinuous motions across, up and down, as if its face is obscured by shadows of things moving in front of it. But there is nothing in front of it except me. I sit as the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

Suddenly, I hear the sounds. As good as the smell of this earth is, it is the sounds that hold my gratitude the most. Subtle tones, loud cries, almost silent flutters in the night, carefree flapping in the day, exuberant songs, mournful groans, the rustle of trees, the hollow whoosh of wind, all these and more form a constant background. I don't understand all of the sounds, but I love them and the life they represent.

I don't understand these sounds either, but I don't love them. For I realize it is IT that speaks and I know not what it intends. I retreat to safety beside the chair. I lie down quietly. When I awake, things will be better. They always are.

Suddenly, my sherry glass is empty. I check the clock, and raise the remote control to turn off my newly installed TV. I am not sure a TV fits in this house, but I am willing to give it a try. Frederick (pronounced Froderick), mostly Labrador, sleeps quietly beside me.

I wake him and ask, "I don't suppose you have an opinion about this TV thing, do you?" Pause. I sigh heavily. "I didn't think so."

Posted by: Longfellow, via email.