Red?

A black squirrel just yelled at me for 3 straight minutes while hanging upside-down on the trunk of a downtown spruce tree.

Was that because I was reading a book about Jungian psychology while sitting in a red car and wearing a red sweater?  It can’t have been for no reason whatsoever, so it must have been the book and the car and the sweater – unless…

Perhaps the squirrel was responding to the residual weird and murky energy roiling around the event that had occurred just before – while reading in my red car and my red sweater I was parked temporarily halfway on the curb, with my hazard lights flashing.  A young mom and dad passed by pushing a stroller, and he said, forcefully, “GOOD BOOK?”  then repeated the same thing over his left shoulder as they walked on (he was striding deliberately – his back decidedly ‘Up’).  I nodded, slightly bewildered, then realized he actually meant what he said next, “why don’t you leave some room for people like us to walk on the sidewalk next time?”  – this accompanied by a look intending to wound and intimidate.  Mom of kid smiled nervously at him, as if to witness his strength in the face of such a red, immovable object as I.  I believe I could hear her thinking, though I could be wrong – “I should like him for this?”.

I responded to his request by moving my car into a driveway, wonderingly.  Then the squirrel started in….

So in retrospect, I don’t think it was the Jungian Psychology book, although the dad did call attention to ‘book’.  Maybe the squirrel objected to Jung – alas, I fear I will never know.

I think it was the colour red.  And the fact that the person I was providing a ride for was 13 minutes late, which I was aware of, even though said person had requested the ride with some urgency.

So perhaps the red was actually glowing warm in the sky above the car [though I don’t think I was that frustrated], and the dad’s Red saw and recognized my Red, so we engaged in a Red conversation?

Red calls to Red?  Is this the way wars and feuds are seeded  – so innocently –  a warm spot that accidentally ignites some hot repressed rage that needed only the smallest thing to ignite?

hmmm.  I am so NOT interested in fighting anyone.  Especially squirrels.

So, all ended well.  Angry dad’s ire was diffused (though I think he’d rather have fought me) when I parked my car, and the squirrel stopped yelling and ran up his tree when my passenger arrived and got in.

I drove said ride-ee to destination, and then came back to my studio, wonderingly.

hmmm.

Moral, so far:  Be careful with Red.  No pointing.

Happy Wednesday all.  I recommend Blue.

drama

thrust & glow & drink & feel & push & ache & hope & yearn...

Is this annual? Does this sense of URGENT URGENT RUN FIX LISTEN SAY DO NOW NOW NOW happen every year around this time? Anybody?

Maybe I’m just noticing it this time around – an old old cycle of violent push-through-the-dead-stuff growth. It’s equally possible that this is part of global climate change, and nothing will every be predictable, ever again.

Case in point: it’s April 17th in Owen Sound, and it’s been snowing and blowing all day long.

Sorry, no picture. Instead, I give you the poor cold, hungry bluejay….

loud, blue, agressively famished

I look around me with human eyes, and I feel it rising within – the urge to attack the piles of useless stuff anonymously left outside last fall. The undeniable inner growl that signals certain death to any thing, thought or habit that no longer serves forward movement. It’s more than a bit scary. See squirrel:

ready. to give anyone shit for anything.

It’s enough to make me aware that I shouldn’t spend too much time in public without supervision this weekend- I would most definitely offend (and then there would be the explanation, the apology, the clean-up – none of which I have any patience for, in my current state).

So if it is snowing in April, then let me be a snowplough, equal to the clearing of old, stagnant, dirty crap. Permit me to direct my springtime rage to good effect, so ground may be cleared for the garlic, the peas, the onions, the lettuce and the cilantro, which will only fulfill their full promise if the way is properly set. For it is rage as good as any irate squirrel will direct at you, if interfered with. Joyful unbounding rage as strong as a river freed from months of ice-bound paralysis, as it sweeps everything last-year-dead before it over the waterfall, into the gorge, into the river, into the bay.

If I could, I would forego sleep, and just work and move and listen and smell and watch and see…. until the pea-plants push through the soil, singing.