a short

Last Call
A gust of wind almost takes the tattered tan hat of his head. He turns to the east and it seems to shelter at least his bearded face from the cold. Just to sit and ponder all the solutions to the biggest problems seems to fall short of helping anyone but himself. What a gutter this energy crisis has left society in. He sits on the edge of a half rotten damn overlooking a pond I know. Its been warmer the last few weeks, the smell of spring is laden in the air now, and the ice has receded, at least from the edges. It seems that almost all the scum has settled to the bottom, leaving the clear to the top, and the pure some where in the middle. “But are they looking at the world upside down?” Soon the mosquitoes will rise from their winter slumber and lay siege to his peace of mind. He just sits passing on advice, hopefully meaningful, to who ever will listen to it. Sometimes the fog is so thick on the water it’s hard to even tell who he’s talking to. Still, his full attention is given to any that come to sit with him. “Old man have a listen to this..”, “Watcha think about that..” “Have a look at the..” “Would you..”, “Have we done enough?” The tired old oak just listens to the endless whispers in the wind and waits for the sun to rise again. –king of the coyotes