Today was weird. Not full on "some guy who thinks he's Tony Danza is singing Phantom of the Opera on the lawn" weird, but everything is a half turn wrong all day weird. Itchy ants in the pants followed by clammy hands on the heart followed by space madness. (oh, fine! no space madness.) If I started listing all the instances of weirdness, I would type all night and into tomorrow. At that point delirium would set in and it would turn into that first kind of weird (Tony Danza weird), which is not what I'm hoping for on a Saturday. I'm hoping for a good night's sleep followed by either a garden variety good day, or maybe a spectacular day. I'm not picky about which, I swear.
ANYWAY. I just got a Charles Simic collection from the library (1963-1983) and was thinking that I should maybe put a poem in for today's post since I had intended to do something else, but the day went weird so I didn't, and I don't really want to leave it with some imaginary deranged person singing show tunes on the lawn, so here is a poem that is a) short and b) appropriately titled. (also c: awesome.)
BEDTIME STORY
When a tree falls in a forest
And there's no one around
To hear the sound, the poor owls
Have to do all the thinking.
They think so hard they fall off
Their perch and are eaten by ants,
Who, as you already know, all look like
Little Black Riding Hoods.
-- Charles Simic
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