Tales from the Couch

I am on the couch again. Some rather peculiar guttural utterances are creeping from under the door, tantalizing me. I’m delighted.
As I tap my foot and snack on some salted peanuts, I look out the window and watch three black birds in formation, on the hunt in the front yard. They are walking across the green grass, three abreast. Steadily. Assuredly. As they walk insects rise up from the jungle depths only to be plucked from mid-air by one of the three black birds. It’s feeding time. The three black birds are taking care of business.
Caterwauling, shaky jeebie snake charmers continue to whisk me away.
Life is as it should.
Black birds are hunting and eating. I have a mouthful of salted peanuts and I am open. I am seated on the couch, where life has taken on new meaning and purpose. I am jubilant. I am wimby womby. I am dizzy.
I will never be the same.
Hornets lift me up on the strength of their wings, at once their savior, as well as their villainous intruder.
I quiver in anticipation their sting.