An 

Ode

To

A

Katydid

 

Today the skies were cloudless blue. The air still and cool. The sun's warmth better than any sweater. The first taste of Fall.

I was supposed to be working. 

I was supposed to be writing.

To you.

I didn't.

I delayed. Dilly-dallied. Hemmed and hawed my way through the afternoon. 

I watered my flowers. Rinsed the remaining cherry tomatoes with the hose and ate them like candy.

I came inside. Sat down at the computer. Told myself. Tunes.

I need tunes.

I put on ABBA. The Dancing Queen.

I dance my queenly self senseless.

I need air. 

Back outside, a solemn, stoic squirrel digging laboriously in the yard, burying walnuts in preparation for winter, fixes me with a withering stare.

Ashamed and rebuked, I return to the keyboard. 

Stuck.

Like chewing gum under a movie seat. 

Can't.

Won't.

Here alone. Just me. I am not inspired. I am not inspirational. I am stiff and awkward and struggling and lost in the moment. The words feel forced and contrived and out of whack and I can't seem to get back to the place where this is so easy and free and natural. I need outside help. Reinforcements. I need a wall to bounce off of. I need someone paying attention. I am a word performer with a bad case of stage fright. 

I love to hear my voice when it pings. Like a fish finder. I am the sonar that must have a movable object to locate or I flail about pinging into the depths. My words must land somewhere. I can feel it, right here, right now. I am winding down. Fading fast. Is there anybody out there listening? Because this silence is deafening. 

Send me an email. IM a smiley face. Text. Call. Wave. Say hi. 

Phonetic frenzy. I need some. An itch I can scratch.

Or...maybe...I just need...ummm...to stretch my legs...take a stroll around the yard...curl up in my adirondack chair and take in a mental image of today...blue sky...warm sun on my face...cool breeze...an image to tickle me when skies are gray and I am shoveling the driveway...

...the squirrel is back. That walnut stained sneering smug sanctimonius...

Hop.   Hop.   Hop.    Plop.  On my arm.  A katydid. Luscious lime little creature. Pop-eyed, antennae waving, summer green, winged tap dancer. YMCA. Flapping. Dancing to ABBA.

I made that up. 

Maybe.

Funny how procrastination can suddenly lead to inspiration. I know the parable of the squirrel and the gathering of the seeds. I rise and stomp across the yard and glare at Mr. Righteously Responsible Rodent . I know the moral of the story, okay?!

Do. The. Work. 

It just so happens I prefer Katy's storytelling. AND the moral of her tale is more easily received. 

Do. The. Work. 

Love. What. You. Do. 

And never ever forget to dance. 

           

Ode To A Katydid

 

Katy did.

Not,

Katy waited.

Katy worried. 

Katy hesitated.

Katy postponed. 

Katy blamed.

Katy avoided.

Katy delayed. 

No.

Katy did. 

Me. Too. 

Katy and I.

The Dancing Queens.