Saturday, May 24, 2014

Oh Danny Boy

Oh Danny Boy


Woke up this morning with the song “Danny Boy” swirlin ‘round in my head. What the H E double hockey sticks was that all about? Thankfully, it was John McDermott singin’ it, so it was a nice rendition. Turns out to have been a harbinger for how the day would turn out. The sky, when I went out for my morning meditation was spotted with wispy clouds, brilliantly back-lighted by the risin’ sun. A meadowlark was chirpin’ at the top o’ his lungs, makin’ himself heard overtop of the honking of geese and the squawkin’ of a lone crow.

Sure enough, I went out an hour later for a smoke an’ the wind had blown the definition outa the clouds to overcast; hidin’ the sun an’ the only thing left of an otherwise promisin’ mornin’ was the meadowlark who just wouldn’t quit. Then the refrain came into my mind “. . . the summer’s gone and all the flowers are dying. . .” Well, that’s about how it would turn out. Even Queen Victoria was in a sour mood. This is the weekend we’re supposed to be celebratin’ her birthday. We’re gonna blow up some fireworks an’ shout “Long may she reign!” We should rather say, “Long may she rain” an’ we wouldn’t be far off. Don’t matter much though. She’s been dead a long time anyways. Even the meadowlark ain’t no meadowlark neither. It’s a blasted killdeer that had no intention of shuttin’ up ‘til about twenty or so crows showed up to chase it away. They’d a done it too except the garbage truck came by, makin’ all kinds o’ racket an’ scared ‘em all off.

“. . . . But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow. Or when the valley’s white and hushed with snow . . .” We’re in Winnipeg, not some Scottish meadow for cryin’ out loud! AND the twenty-fourth o’May aint ‘til next Saturday!

What’s goin’ on with them folks who set the dates for holidays anyways? You’d think they’d know better by now. They obviously never been to Winnipeg. “. . . . And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”  You think? After a miserable cold winter of storms, freezin’ water pipes, pot holes an’ sink holes, mother nature needs a little time to recover. Ya can’t just say one day “Now it’s the May long weekend so let’s plant stuff an’ get the summer underway.” You gotta wait for the right long weekend to do that an’ it ain’t the eighteenth o’ the month. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin.



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