I've missed every pie fight here since mid-December 2009. I like that reality. In the interim, I have logged on to look for information and inspiration. Today, my inspiration came from BF Skinner, a Kossack whom I both admire and love as much as one can on the toobz. I know about life and death, contentment and fear: he reminded me of fragility and the need to grasp on to someone -- something that provides hope and joy.
Yesterday I watched a black vulture roost.
The vulture reminded me of dinosaurs -- without Jesus. He reminded me of beauty and the cycle of life. Why was he here at this yet to be populated summer respite? I discovered that he found a dead racoon on the shoreline -- wasted protein unless a carnivore wished to not only take advantage but also clean up the environs.
Back to my beloved BFS: he gave me a window into being a black vulture. I sit on a bow looking down at a life gone awry -- waiting to take some succor. Hideous. Who could possibly think in this manner? I don't really know, but I realized when I read his extraordinary diary that I struggled for words to make him well and found that I was like the black vulture -- needing to devour his essence to make me whole -- make me better -- make me live.
And here I am -- wanting to hold BF in my arms rather than absorb him. I want him to be my friend, to know him more than he might know himself right now. I've known him since his first tentative posting here and watched him grow like a fragrant flower among us and I just want to cry because we all want to save him. I want to save him.
I sit like a black vulture waiting and hope that I will fall from my branch while BF Skinner shakes his head and lopes off from the shore to revel in the sustinance that surrounds him.
I'm semi-inebriated, fully sad and hoping for redemption from a man I have come to respect and love. I wanted my first diary from my hiatus to be about something politically substantive -- instead, I can only write about a bird and a man -- life.