The birds are nice, said Blurtso, they sound very happy. Yes, said Bonny, Pablo can identify all of them by their songs. Really, said Blurtso, what was that one? That was a chickadee, said Pablo. And that one? said Blurtso. That was another chickadee. How about that one? said Blurtso. That was the same chickadee you heard the first time, said Pablo. Wow, said Blurtso, that’s amazing.
Somewhere beyond the city, maybe up north, in Maine, the warmth is thickening on the breeze, the mud is hardening underhoof, and voices are swelling on the branches. And a donkey with no place to go is losing himself, in the fragrance of needles and pine.
Intervention? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, every day during lunch I have to meet with a special teacher. Until when? said Virginia. Until I pass the next Dibels. What if you fail the next one? Then, said Ditto, I continue to be intervened.
An abject failiure? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, that’s what the teacher called me. I’ve never heard the word “abject”, said Virginia. “Abject”, said Ditto, refers to someone cast down in spirit, someone reduced to hopelessness and surrender. Really? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, at least that’s the way Thoreau uses it. Thoreau? said Virginia. Henry David Thoreau, said Ditto, a man who wrote a book called Walden—my parents have a copy and they let me read it. Was Thoreau abject? said Virginia. No, said Ditto, but near the end of the book when he’s talking about the importance of protecting your thoughts he says, “Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts… if I were confined to a corner of a garret all my days, like a spider, the world would be just as large to me while I had my thoughts… from an army of three divisions one can take away its general, and put it in disorder, but from the man the most abject and vulgar one cannot take away his thought.” How come you can read Walden, said Virginia, but can’t pass the Dibels? I don’t know, said Ditto, I guess Walden is a different kind of reading, or maybe Thoreau has been outlawed.
Eulogy? said Bonny. Yes, I could say something… “Here lies a tree. It was a good tree. A tree that made use of what was offered, and offered what made use. It grew without haste, and it grew without malice. And when it fell, it made a sound.”
Why is that tree different? said Bonny. Because it’s dying. Why is it dying? Because it’s old. Its roots can’t nourish it, and its leaves don’t absorb the sun. Save it? No, we can’t save it. It’s going to die, and then it will fall, and rot, and become food for the forest. You and me? Yes, one day.
Hmm, thought Blurtso, would you look at that… an abandoned tavern. A place where firelight once flickered on the walls and ceiling, where animals and people stopped for refreshment, exchanged words and glances, then continued on their way.
I wonder if anyone will ever know all that’s inside of me, and if I will ever know all that’s inside of them? Or if that’s impossible for creatures who are burdened with motion and words.
The moon is full. They say a full moon brings out the animal in you. I wonder what animal is in me? A bull, or a goat, or a parakeet? I’ve never really thought about my inner parakeet. I wonder how long it’s been trying to get out? I wonder if it’s unhealthy to keep it locked up. The world might be a different place, if we all got in touch with our inner parakeets.
I don’t think the teacher likes you, said Virginia, maybe you should bring her an apple.
