Sunday morning coming down

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a big fan of Kris Kristofferson.  I think he's a genius.  I read a Facebook comment from someone just a couple of days ago who had been to one of his recent shows, with Merle Haggard or some other legend, and that Kris had been so drunk that he screwed up his lyrics.  The comment was why didn't he just give it up and fade out with dignity or something like that.  Okay, hold on.  Kris, you see, has the right to fade out any way he wants to.  They're his damn lyrics and if he wants to turn them upside down and inside out until they become gibberish, more power to him.   If he chooses to get on stage and crap his pants, he's earned the right.  If he wants to grab the celestial light he's obviously been blessed with seeing and comprehending and become an evangelist, moving the masses to a spiritual place they've only imagined, he can go that route.  The point is:  Kris is Kris and that's what makes him who he is.  And, quite frankly, there is no dignity is fading out.  Fading out with dignity is an oxymoron.  So leave my hero the hell alone.

But that's not what I wanted to say today.  What made me think of Kris was the term "Sunday morning coming down."  This has been one on those Sunday mornings.  In approximately forty-five minutes, it will be Sunday afternoon, and we can lay this Sunday morning to rest.  

This morning and I are not getting along all that well.  Part of it is this dreary grey winter we're having.  Kid Rock says he hasn't seen the sunshine in three damn days.  Johnny Cash ain't seen the sunshine since he don't know when.  Jonathan Edwards says sunshine go away today, I don't feel much like dancing.  I'm just glad I'm not the only one that obsesses over sunshine.

People say (and you know who you are) "Quit worrying about the weather.  You can't do anything about it."  Well, do tell!  And here I've been spending my life thinking that I had control over the weather...that all I had to do was close my eyes, put my index finger on the side of my nose, turn around three times, and the weather would change instantly to what I wanted it to be, which would be, by the way, sunshine most of the time.  Sunshine interrupted from time to time with a nice, warm day of steady rain.  How foolish of me to have spent my life under that false assumption!

But that's not really what I wanted to talk about either.  Just like I don't want to talk about the bunny rabbit that I found in my pool this morning.  Floating on its side, one dark eye staring up at the grey sky.  The grey sunless sky.

I figured that he was running to escape a coyote or one of my dogs or just a shadow and didn't see the pool.  I mean who would put a pool in the middle of a perfectly good yard?

And I don't want to talk about the bird I saw one of my cats brunching on while I was attempting to fish the bunny out of the pool with the big net normally reserved for leaves.  But forget the cat and the bird and back to the bunny I don't want to talk about.  I fished him out - rigor mortis had set in - and I apologized to him for what had happened and how sorry I was that he must have suffered an excrutiatingly stressful death.  And that I hoped he was having fun in bunny heaven right now, which I pictured as a huge field of green grass and lots of clover, with tons of both white and red blossoms.  And no dogs.  And no cats.  And no swimming pools right in the middle of paths of escape.  And, yes, lots of sunshine.  Lots of buttery yellow sunshine.  

But, like I said, that's not what I wanted to talk about.  In fact, I don't think I want to talk about anything today.  Maybe something later.  Maybe something after I put on some earphones and listen to some Kris Kristofferson songs and read some Larry Brown short stories.  Maybe after that I'll find something I want to talk about.  If not, I'll just keep my mouth shut until I have something of value to say.