Beauty and Retards

All life is special. Its a million different puzzle pieces coming together to paint you a picture. But life isn't just "special" so to speak. There are many types of special. There's a special type of beauty. The type of beauty that rises in the east and sets in the west. On the opposite side of that spectrum there's a special kind of retard. You know, like your cousin Rodney. The type that ain't never going to graduate from the kiddy table at Thanksgiving. The type that's stuffing used cigarette buds in to his pipe outside your neighbors house. Then there is a special type of innocence. I call this the "baby bird" special. The kind that's sweet, naive and you just don't give a rats ass about. Seriously, it's like your friends dog. Cute little thing but if it craps in your yard you're going to give it hell.

Well, this story is about that last kind of special. One day, minding my own, I see a baby bird laying on the grass. Little guy was trying to chirp his way to freedom. Problem was, he couldn't handle himself anymore than Michael J. Fox at a hand-job convention. So, I scoop him up and start looking for the nest he came from. Instantly I remember a lesson learned back in primary school: Mama bird catches the scent of a human on its kin and she ain't going to have nothing to do with him anymore.

I'll be damned if I was going to be the cause of another orphan in this world. I scanned for the nearest tree and spotted it's nest. Right underneath was a picnic table. Exploding in to action, I leapt for the bench and sprung myself into the air. "Jumping Jack Flash". Yeah, right. Caught my foot on the table and lost all momentum. Right before I started to plummet, I gave the bird a toss towards it's landing pad. Damn thing landed perfectly. Wish I could say the same for myself.

Woke up a few minutes later with my head on a pike and my arm in a sling. Broke my arm saving a bird. I figured, at least I got that bird back to it's family. It could grow old, fly through the valleys, experience the ebb and flow of the wind. All of that made me feel real warm (that and the pain killers the EMT's had given me). I stood up so they could load me in to the Ambo. I couldn't see a damn thing 'cause of all the shade this tree was casting. Took one step and almost rolled my ankle stepping on a rock. Or, what I thought was a rock.

"Damn bird."

Lesson learned? Some types of special really are beautiful. But most, well, they just shit in your yard.

A quick introduction . . .

Over the years, I've seen a vast many things. From tiny, dwarf-like hula-hoop champions to families of five all graduating school at the same time. Through your travels you find that the space between your start and your end is what you call home. You find that your "starts" and your "ends" blur together a little more than you might like. I can't say that I envy the word "stability" but I can say I wish I knew exactly what it meant. Well, this is my attempt at pouring a little concrete on my life. An anchor point, if you will. I'll show you what it's like to live a day in the life of "Coyote" (never could shake that name).

When you spend your life on the go you seem to develop this sense of elevation. Like you're hanging from a crop duster on a 50-foot string. Even when you walk amongst the masses, you're heads in the clouds. This is my life on stilts.