I went to the park

to watch the daisies grow.

How green and strong in springtime light.

I thought of you

and named a daisy Gracie.

As I sat and joined in song

I could’ve sworn the daisy watched me.

I left the park just then

feeling like the world

was pollinating again.

I’m not certain today, if Gracie is still Earth bound. I do know that she has been straddling the line between here and gone. It’s been hard, as it has always been hard, for me to wrap my mind around death. Death has shown up as several characters in the play of my life. The first of significance was our family dog, Sheba. After that, I remember little of the human or animal departures, aside from flashes in my mind. Until 1990. My friend Ed.

 Death seems to come so fast and furious now. Chalk it up to my aging human form. My Godfather died last month. Len and Rod were partners for almost as long as I’ve been aboard planet Earth. Now he’s gone. Death kills the living, I believe. It kills a piece of me every time.

Gracie, though. I fancied her invincible. She kicked my ass, knocked me down and broke into my soul. I’m not sure if I hate her for that. I’m not sure about love at all, really. I can’t decide why love makes sense. I hate this suffocating, choking state I’m in. Would I trade the loving for the hurting? I can’t answer that just yet.

All I know is that I can’t save Gracie, or her Mom. And this reality angers me into shutting it all down…

So here’s what I heard on vacation…

… Oops, in trying to relate the sounds of hearing, I heard seven things that belie the truth of what I heard. Because really, I heard this…

…Damn it! I screwed it up again! Hear nothing, is what I’m trying to say. Here is more than-way more than nothing. Ever heard nothing? No. Me either. Until Hornby. Until I got loose of my city vibe, my shitty vibe. Hear ye, here ye. So let’s try again, me. 

Hear this…A cow bird. Gracie whining cuz’ mama’s done gone fo’ a bit. A homeless yet entrepreneurial wasp, chewing the cabin post. A deep inhale of American smoke. The crisp departure of unenamored feet. The sizzle of wings just ready to eat. The buzz of bees so close to the sheets. The cawing of ravens who’re ready for meat.

Do not hear this…Air conditioners and suv’s. Sirens, trains and flat t.v.’s. Sodium lamps and angry squirrels. Feral cats and human perils. 4th of July shenanigan crackers, pops and bangs and homeless wackers.

The noise of San Marco that I most usually tune out, is the antithesis of a cacauphony that Hornby’s without.

Can you hear me now? I sincerely hope not. The silence will unnerve you. But it most surely will  serve you.

Ya heard dat?

Did you ever have to give those sorts of oral or written reports at the beginning of the new school year? I didn’t. So I’ll start now…

Imagine this scenario…

The garbage truck doesn’t show up this week. They don’t come as scheduled on Monday. You think;  “how odd,” and phone WMI to inquire. They say;  “we’re outta business.” You think; “WTF am I supposed to do with all this emm effing garbage on my driveway?”

The planet answers… “figure it out, beeotch!”

And so you do. You phone me up and ask what the hell all those Hornby Islanders do with their disposable disposables. I relay this story…

And this one…

And I ask the recycle guru, Annie, if she has any advice. She says; “Recycling makes me Hornby.”

And I can only reply, “Recycling makes Y’ALL Hornby.” There is no “I” in team, so it must mean that there’s an entire community that separates, divides and conquers their waste material. I saw it done. I had to participate in it. You shoulda seen the ginormous bag of cigarette butts that I accumulated over two weeks time.

So it goes like this, just in case we have to immediately stop being such a throw-away community; One smoke pack is divided into two- the foil and plastic are absolute garbage but the cardboard is a compostable. Milk cartons are now recyclable but please rinse and dry them as they smell foul if left to their own devices. Fruit, vegetable and nut shells are completely recyclable/compostable. However, meat bones should be hurled as far into the back 40 as you can throw, lest they attract vermin. Bacon fat and other middle-of-the road indecipherables should be fed quickly to Dookie before Gracie catches on.

Crossword puzzles that are incomplete should be hidden and immediately scrunched up and labeled as done. Completed crosswords should be placed in full view for an allocated time period before being placed in the compostables pile. Styrofoam is an absolute freak of nature and should be treated as an alien form of nonsense. DO NOT toss in any pile other than absolute garbage. We would prefer that you take styrofoam “off island.”

A word to smokers…it is me, a fellow human being and inhabitant of this Earth that had to clop your thrown away smoke ends. PLEASE, for the love of all things holy, find a fucking receptacle other than the ground we walk upon to toss your butts. Think of me, in an orange monkey suit, picking up your shit. Okay, don’t think of that exactly, but something along those lines. This goes double for Kelly. You know who you are!

So my dear friends, what I did on my summer vacation was learn. I learned how much I take for granted and how much a community can change if they band together. I am working out a plan in my head.

But I’m just not there yet.

Thank you to those Hornby residents who are the true and righteous stewards of our planet. We ALL can learn alot from y’all.

My summer vacation was an exercise in humility. My summer vacation was a gift. My summer vaction continues…