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Our time here on this Earth is limited. Finite.

We are in the midst of hastening our own demise.

Climate change. Violent uprisings. Pain and suffering. It goes on.

There is no way of knowing when there will no longer be a tomorrow. When there will no longer be one more breath. Whether our eyes will open again. Seeing faces and places. Being. We don’t know. We can’t know.

Because of this, I implore you, I beg you, to always remember to take the time to appreciate the beauty that surrounds you. At this moment. At every moment. Don’t miss them. Don’t let them pass you by.

We are often caught up in the never-ending rush and hullabaloo as life sprints by, especially this time of year.

Rise up. Fight. Disentangle yourself from perfunctory chains. Liberate the living from within. This is your life.

Embrace the seasons changing. The crisp winter air as it carries with it the dream of renewal and rebirth into the spring.

Like today, for example, I sat in complete reflective silence and spent a solid five minutes mesmerized by the dance of a thousand enmeshed and intertwined snowflakes as they meandered down the liquid entrails of their fallen kin on a glassy windowed surface.

I watched transfixed as they weaved. Zig. Zag. Moving towards entropy.

As they slid. Gliding by forces unseen. Adhesion. Gravity. Life’s intangible powers on full naked display.

And these flakes, they too eventually became the newly fallen, one after the other, frigid little lemmings, leaving the broken crystalline carcasses of those not cold enough to maintain their icy matrix, behind. They slid onward over their liquefied brethren and sistren. An indefatigable journey.

It was incredible.

Nature forcing me to take those few precious moments, my breath held by the awe inspiring beauty of what I was witnessing.

To actually live in those few precious moments. Connected with my humanity. With Mother Nature. In the now. Right there and then.

Just me and those special little snowflakes.

Until I was rudely shaken from my reverie.

From my place of complete peace and zen by the fuckers behind me honking incessantly at me to go.

What’s the big deal? Green lights will always come and go.

Melting snowflakes, they never last.

Photo by Damian McCoig on Unsplash

I’ve come to the official conclusion that no matter how much I try, over however many years, with however much practice, I will never train my eyes to be faster than those floaties I chase on the back of my eyelids.

Photo by Cara Fuller on Unsplash

‘Rithmatic.

Perhaps it’s time that schools revert back to teaching basic counting again.

Especially in the context of express lanes in grocery stores.

Twelve items or less means just that. A simple dozen. Not a Baker’s one.

12. Not 13. Not 14. Or any other variation. This is a hard cut off because rules matter. Numbers matter.

If you have 13 items, get your ass over to a regular check out lane.

Where you belong.

Putting down 12 items, then making a separate pile of another 12 items doesn’t work.

It just shows everyone around how you fared in primary school maths. And reading comprehension, which happens to be another important R.

So yeah, that’s why you were called out.

Photo by Antoine Dautry on Unsplash

Do you ever envision yourself as a gargantuan herbivorous giant decimating forests of little green trees, not even caring about the effects of said deforestation on imaginary climate change, while eating broccoli?

I do.

Photo by Reinaldo Kevin on Unsplash

The bigger issue for me is the havoc that has been wrought on my impeccable sleep habits by daylight savings time.

I feel like I’m just bumping and grinding along.

My mind’s telling me yes.

But my body, my body ‘s telling me no.

There is no greater joy than accomplishing the start of a goal that’s been 2+ years in the making.

Roughly a year ago to the day, I officially made first contact with a crow.

For two years (or longer) I’ve kept two peanuts (still in shell) at my desk in the hopes of bartering it for crow-friendship.

At every instance of seeing a crow nearby, I would head outside post-haste with my two big nuts in hand, and give them as a generous offering. A beautiful offering. The most beautiful offering.

Almost invariably, over the years and with every attempt, the seagulls (who happen to always be around) would bully the poor crow(s) by making an aggressive swoop for the proffered gifts, and I’d have to rush in to rescind my offering.

That’s right. I got in the fray, scared the seagulls off, and would take my two big nuts back.

That morning a year ago was different.

The crow stood there on the utility pole. Glistening black feathers, shimmering in the sunlight. A bird, not quite on a wire, solitary and stoic.

I quickly dropped what I was doing (basically stopped scrolling through my social media news-feed) and rushed out with the gift of my delicious crunchy nuts.

And with a sharp inter-species clucking sound escaping my lips, I flung those two lemniscate orbs into the open parking spot just below the pole, and retreated to demonstrate I meant no harm, no threat.

Not even 10 seconds later, the majestic crow, wings at full abduction, glided down in an incredible Golden Spiral pattern, causing not only a flutter in the air, but also one deep inside my lumpy coal heart.

It delicately plucked the one peanut and flew off.

But, before departing, I swear, it looked back over it’s crowy shoulder and gave me that glance.

That glance of friendship.

It was happening. After all these years. Success.

I have a crow-friend.

Photo by Hannes Wolf on Unsplash

Giving joy to someone else is one of the greatest gifts we can give.

It is for this reason that I did not pluck out my own ingrown beard hair.

I gifted that joy to another.

Photo by Mika on Unsplash