Treetops

What I assumed was an owl (what I had always assumed was an owl--maybe not the same owl, but an owl) whoo-ing in the distance turns out not to be an owl at all. It is likely a dove. This was explained to me by my significant other who is really good at delivering correct information. That is to say, the kind of information that might turn another's world and their assumptions about it upside down. He does it in such a whatever-your-idea-is-funnier-I wouldn't-have-a world-without-your-funny-ideas way. He is kind even when it is not necessary to take the extra step of being kind. He treats people well. He does this because he is a genuinely happy, strong, mentally sound person. I mention owls and get told, no, doves. It's hard, but like I said, there's always laughter with my significant other. Laughter followed by cake and coffee. You can imagine how I laughed, ultimately, when I realized just how long I had thought a dove (or doves) was an owl. It's true. We aren't in the forest. I kind of thought we were. It was the three or four pine trees that threw me off. The woodpecker noise, however, is real. That has been confirmed. I hear woodpeckers everywhere, so this is a relief. I like the specific hollowness of the sound that woodpeckers make. It reminds me of the few wooden instruments that wait to be played on the percussion-person's percussion table at the symphony. Some of these instruments are used only rarely. Some of them are used just once during a performance. But, oh, when they do use the wooden percussive instruments, it's always perfect. Such woodpecker sounds (whether real, musically reproduced or imagined) make me feel both grounded and transported. Transported to somewhere exotic like maybe Michigan or even Ohio. And, it brings the word 'treetops' to mind for some reason. In a font that's probably called Twiggy Sans. I'm picturing just about any Great Lake's region summer camp T-shirt: 'Camp Something Or Other'. The words are rendered from twig-shaped letter with a graphic of pine trees in the background. Camp Something Or Other. Pine trees. Tree houses. Owls. Birds. Twigs. Great Lakes. It's been a strange, unprecedentedly early spring this year. All of the ubiquitous symbols are jangling around in my winter-brain like a box of coat hangers trying unsuccessfully to un-puzzle themselves. At this rate it will be summer by Tuesday. And I am, as one might expect, very confused. 

Square One

You have brain fog and can't express yourself. At least not in the manner you did before. Over the course of months the brain fog lifts but, unfortunately, old modes of expression do not return. Instead, you start over from square one and awkwardly learn other modes of expression. And, although it sounds fairly frustrating, and is fairly frustrating, in the end you state that you'd 'not have it any other way'. Meanwhile, vague, wordless impressions of struggling at being new in the world silently bubble to the surface. It's almost like getting a whole new life. Only, no one tells you that it's like getting a whole new life. Or, maybe they do, but when they do you automatically tune out such messages as 'unlikely'.