Apology

 

I heard the first mourning doves the other day. Their seductive cooing evoked summertime; an experience belied by my senses. I looked around, startled because the trees were still bare, the grass dry and brittle. There might have yet been piles of snow in the shadows.

My crocuses came up, but declined to open because it got cold again. They might be open now though, the sun is shining. I haven't been outside yet this fine morning. I can hear the birds singing; not in mourning, in what sounds to me like jubilation; though I know is just their way.

Do I need to apologize for my use of language? I don't know, I certainly don't mean any harm. In one sense it very definitely expresses my deep frustration at the state of society (again I hear Patti Smith, ”Outside of society...” OK, I'll get over it). That entire post was one of those drunken rambles that I was telling you about, that I later decided had enough merit to let stand. I dunno?

I'll say this because I'm proud of it: I was called a n---- once, by a black man in Memphis, TN. I took it as a compliment.

I'll not retract the word, but I won't use it again. I do apologize though; for the entire shameful history that necessitates my apology.