I'm almost sure that I'm seeing a very large bird of some sort, a hawk, maybe, or an eagle, half turned away from me, sitting on the gate post in front of the brownstone, but for some reason none of the other people on the street with me today seem to care, or even notice that it's there. But when I get closer, I'm disappointed to find that it's nothing more than a knitted cap hanging there, angled in such a way as to suggest a bird.
This used to happen all the time as a kid: I would wake up in the early morning in my childhood bedroom, and from my bed I would see something on my dresser, a box I couldn't remember leaving there, and I would get all excited, thinking it was a present for me, maybe left overnight by mom and dad, just because they loved me and wanted to make me happy.
Inevitably, though, it would turn out to be something ordinary, say a familiar book or toy, distorted by shadows and bad lighting into something I couldn't recognize, and I would be terribly disappointed, but even that wouldn't keep me from being excited the next time it happened.
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One year ago today: History
Two years ago today: Morning - Three (Contrasts)
Three years ago today: Sponsored by Nobody
Six years ago today: 10-8-10 a few words on the meta-narrative
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