{"id":5595,"date":"2022-12-06T20:31:57","date_gmt":"2022-12-07T01:31:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/?page_id=5595"},"modified":"2022-12-06T20:31:57","modified_gmt":"2022-12-07T01:31:57","slug":"somnolent-sunset","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/?page_id=5595","title":{"rendered":"“Somnolent Sunset”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Bacon Scrapins<\/em><\/strong> are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They\u2019re tasty, but the nutrition needs searching for. This tale is a<\/em> bacon scrapin<\/em><\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sitting in my armchair beside the fireplace, looking out the back window, snow dervishes were dancing in the wind swirling around the sleeping burning bush. My gaze wandered farther out to the spot where I used to recline and ponder. My memory drifted back in time, and my body seemed to go with it.<\/p>\n

It was 7 pm. I was stretched out perfectly horizontal on my zero-gravity chair, strategically placed in the shadow of our pine tree, not beneath those dangerous robin bombs. Elbows resting on the chair arms, fingers inter-twinned across my chest, head drooping gently to the left, eyes closed. Ah \u2013 doing nothing on a late summer eve! In that dozing stage between conscious and snooze. Well-earned fatigue after 18 holes of earlier battle with the little white ball persuades my mind that drifting toward oblivion is deserved.<\/p>\n

My ankles were hanging over the metal foot bar and my Achilles sent a nerve jolt to my right calf muscle. Twitch. Gentle puff across my face caused an itch in my hair line. Scratch. Doze.<\/p>\n

Was an ant attacking the hair on my right wrist? Rub. Doze. Was that the call of a whistle-whistle-whoop-whoop bird wondering where it\u2019s target mate is? Quiet. Doze. There it is again, whistle-whistle-whoop-whoop. Whistle-whistle-whoop-whoop back-at-you. Wonder why they can\u2019t just find each other, say quiet things to each other on the same branch and let me get to snooze stage?<\/p>\n

Squiggle. Squiggle of a back muscle. My head swings back across to the other side in response. Eyes closed but a sun flash through the branches bursts inside the lids. Slight head twist settles that. Darkness again.<\/p>\n

Imaginary clouds projected inside my closed lids starts an imaginary story of circling flight as we approach Rome\u2019s Leonardo da Vinci airport. I see below me the oval of the Colosseum and dust from armed combat \u2013 must be another display of bread-and-circuses to pacify the citizens? A spasmatic jolt hits my left elbow. A sword strike?<\/p>\n

My head twists left my eyes flash open. It\u2019s just Charlie, my Australian Shepherd biscuit-buddy from down the pathway come for his treat. No snooze yet it seems. Down goes the chair leg, up gets my dozy body. Charlie and I go to the garage for his reward for saving me from destruction at the hands of gladiators. Back to my chair. Feet up. Dozing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere should I bury it?\u201d What? It\u2019s my wife asking about a robin that hit a rear window without seeing the bird stickers we\u2019d put there for this situation. My head lifts slightly and I suggest in the patch of Hostas around the base of the pine tree. Slight sounds of digging. Silence. Doze.<\/p>\n

Left foot starts beating time in the air without permission. The whirligig robin deflectors whirl with clicks at my ears\u2019 level. Cool breeze brings slight chill and arm muscle contractions. Is that dew blanketing me? No, just evening. Sun\u2019s settling over the roof line.<\/p>\n

My eyes flutter and refocus on the white window view from my fireside chair. No reclining chair, no whirligigs, no evening breeze. Just those intermittent snow dancers. I wonder how the Leafs game is going? This doing nothing thing is really hard some days. I\u2019ll work at it again tomorrow.<\/p>\n

All characters in this tale are fictional.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>You may email appropriate comments for the writer to thisiswilmot@gmail.com<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They\u2019re tasty, but the nutrition needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin. Sitting in my armchair beside the fireplace, looking out the back window, snow dervishes were dancing in the wind swirling around the sleeping burning bush. My gaze […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":4072,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-5595","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5595","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5595"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5595\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5596,"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5595\/revisions\/5596"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/4072"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisiswilmot.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5595"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}