This happened a little over a week ago. You know, I wonder what it would be like to write about things as they happen, as they occur to me – but I find that my thoughts are like custard: besides being bland and a little mushy…they require some time to set. There is nothing about my mentality which can be called spontaneous. My impulses are anything but.
Anyway. I was suffering through my walk to work. I say that because it wasn't even nine o'clock in the bloody bright AM, and the sky had already turned humid – it was pale; the blue atmosphere barely filtering through the clouds. They were lowering, stretched thin across the sky…these clouds would later trap the heat like a steam-cooker, leaving all of us tender, well-done and with the meat just falling off the bone. I had been walking for possibly 10 minutes, and was already schvitzing.
So. Tired and moist, I continued on my death march. I passed by the one street which displayed palm trees on its corners – the other streets chosing to shun the romance of the desert. These palms were tall and slim – waving their fans in the barely perceptible wind, like willowy slaves.
But there something else about these trees; they were emitting – like the most raucous and unholy street party, the most undying cacophony, the most strident fishwife, the most brain-shattering playground – a multitude of screeching, as I had never heard before. It was positively rude.
And it was all coming from the clutch of fronds below the broad leaves.
This of course made me stop and squint into the unwelcome sun. No good. I fumbled in my purse for my glasses; yes: 'corrective lenses' were definitely needed if I wanted to see what was going on thirty-five feet above my head.
I peered…there was certainly some type of movement going on, a type of rustling, like mice burrowing through hay.
Now, the local ravens were not happy about this noisie. Ordinarily very tolerant creatures, they were swooping around this Tree of Loud – landlords in respectable black, trying to figure out who these irritating new tenants were, and maybe hoping that they would vacate the premises.
One flew in too close – and suddenly from one palm burst a flock of fluttering wings. They flew in wild, mad circles – not in a dignified, orderly 'v' – and when they flew beneath the sun, I was thrilled to see the light on their backs suddenly turn green and yellow, picking up a spot of rose near their beaks.
Now, bands of wild parrots (robbing liquor stores, street-racing, etc.) to many is an old story. And many more I'm sure find their high-pitched yelling annoying. And I've noticed that the seed pods – split and chewed – scattered about the base of the trees were beginning to cook in the sun. What I'm saying is that many people will see these colorful mobs as pests.
They're parrots! They're green! C'mon – enjoy!