On Duty in the Complaints Dept.

Sitting in in one of the yellow Muskoka chairs under a tree in the backyard. My belly is full, (eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and toast) and I have a warm cup of tea at hand. Popeye is slumbering in the grass about ten feet in front of me. The birds are chirping and warbling. Hanging from the branches all around me are a series of completely empty feeders – it’s been a big week at the Juniorvanian Avian Fly-Thru Restaurant – so I suppose that there is some mild belly-aching going on in the trees surrounding my current position. It’s an overcast, but not unpleasant day – a slight chill in the air more reminiscent of fall, but with all the grass and the budding leaves in the trees so unmistakably green, there is no forgetting it’s spring.

There is a stack of work waiting for me inside the house, in a briefcase somewhere near the front door, where I abandoned it in the excitement of arriving home on Friday night. There are things in that case that need to get done before this day is over, things that will take some time, effort and concentration.

I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt to brace myself against the cooling breeze that’s coming over the farmer’s field to the southwest and I resolve to turn off the computer for a few minutes, and just listen.