Half a country away, I know woodpeckers to sound like mini jackhammering construction-workers. Then nabbing their grub they fly on, living an almost always quiet kind of presence. Here in the rib of Georgia, Woody approaches life differently. Post-head smacking he breathes out a ceaseless heavy-chested scream, like he’s scared for his life and running from a ax murderer.
Maybe it’s a call to a lady? If so, just like an obvious dweeb with a “Whassup, girl” or “You lookin’ fine” message on Tinder, don’t, because the pecker’s vocalization leaves your narrator both confused and swiping left.
The silent stunners though are the butterflies. Their gentle flit to land on a flower is like they’re being dropped off by a bubble. Also visible are the smaller NASCAR drivers and the “I need my coffee now” aka intense butterflies. Not to worry the mix of the flirt and fleet is a nice reminder that the two paces can live together harmoniously.
As a kid that never visited the South, I didn’t know the constant sprinkler system like buzz and siren sounds, were insects. So, however weird this may sound, I thought the bug chatter was the tone of the sun hitting the pavement. Please don’t laugh.
Two four-wheel drive trucks and the garbage person have passed by during my lengthy squat here on a comfy pillowed wicker chair. Nearby a mostly browned fern I’ve chosen to save hangs. I’m not sure I’ll get to see its comeback, but that’s ok.
The air is as sultry as a recently turned off wet sauna. Which is fine. With the sun’s brutality beating the other side of the house, drinking my coffee and reporting on what sweet southern country is like is doable.
I’ll have to move soon, but not only from the incoming sun but from a bug quadruple the size of anything I’ve seen at home; it’s wanting my chair.
Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 