Spring has come to these mountains. Frogs send their amorous creakings up out of the creeks and ditches. This morning I saw a whole tribe of wild turkeys. The tom turkey had his tail fanned out just like the pictures in grammar school, and his eighteen wives and children grazed peacefully around him as he strutted his stuff, wattles swinging.
A few minutes ago in the gloaming a bird rang out with a song that reminded me of what happens when you take a Jack-in- the-box that plays “Pop Goes the Weasel” and crank the handle backward. A funny series of notes that just don’t sound like they belong together. But the Jack pops out of his box nevertheless, right on cue, except the notes are backward.
I don’t know why this appeals to me. It seems a bit morbid, really, to take pleasure in something happening in reverse. No matter: it’s a harmless pleasure.
On the other hand, when things happen out of order in real life, I feel unsettled, uncomfortable, headachy. I’ve had that feeling this week, except it’s been mixed with that semi-perverse Jack-in-the-box reversal pleasure.
“POP!” goes the weasel.
Copyright 2012 Laura P. Schulman all rights reserved