I watched two feathers floating. It came to mind as I watched that they were dead, yet lived carried on a soft summer wind. I suppose that consideration would not mean much other than as I meander closer to the final twitch it becomes a bit more interesting. As a youth it was never considered. Two feathers walking on the wind. Damn somebody shot an old bird I would think. First thought that came to mind. Never considered that they just might be a couple of feathers that some bird picked out, or that they were just molted, if that is indeed the right word.
As a teenager things changed rapidly for me, not as most would think, that as well I suppose. I became a young fellow for the most part interested in the floating of feathers in the wind other than; damn somebody must have killed an old bird! I heard a Gustav Mahler symphony. Cannot remember where or exactly when but it was the feathers to be sure. I heard Beethoven, more feathers. Then the Italian Verismo operas. Even more feathers.
I had always been a fine singer even as a child. It came to me as easily as the feathers. Then the Italians floated me to where my heart wanted to be. I floated with the feathers. I heard a tenor, Franco Corelli by name. He was singing Gounod's Ave Maria at my aunt's house by way of a record. I think I was fourteen or so and decided I would sing along. Not much luck but great balls I had. So it went for a time then I was in a place which I do not care to talk about. A place where bullets replaced feathers, or did they? It is strange to me indeed that when in situations of apoplectic fear that I should sing... Well at least in my head although I was often reprimanded for singing what I thought was not too loud while in situations that were apoplectic. Can drill instructors be apoplectic?
What the hell shall I do with my feathers? The above was passed along to where it belonged, I was still young, where, what the hell you got a beer? Fortunate in life as I was my path was lead by others. I found myself in Europe doing a lot of feathering to my heart's content. Lots of feathered glory, women, booze, about 190 pounds of extra body fluff over the years then it was over. As the warrior seldom if ever hears the bullet that hits it was over, back in sunny California once again, what, older, what the hell you got a beer?
Had to make a living, I have, pretty good for the most part but had not a damned thing to do with the feathers. So what the hell does a feather man do? I wrote, good, bad, never indifferent. What I write are the feathers that I watched floating on the summer wind. There you have it, not much more, perhaps not that interesting unless you have sat watching two feathers floating.
Dave, a fan of all things baseball, sang an incredible rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, on June 2nd, 2011. The National Anthem sounded amazing.