The strangest thing about watching the clock wind about the dial, in the wee small hours off the dark, is the lack of voice’s and noise.
And each night has its own character, its own weather, and its own thoughts.
Tonight is qiet. With exceptions: I rose at three, Dog waiting by the table as I fumble into sweats and shoes and we head for the back door – without lights, for after all my eyes are accustom to the darkness.
Dog get to pee on the tree near the patio and I get to smile when I hear the druggies alarms they have aimed at my back door go off around the very quiet village. Early tonight, before bed time, it was dogs barking in two locations and roosters crowing in one.
This night when I let dog out, I knowingly stepped out onto the patio to set off the alarms and heard dogs barking in three locations about he village. This morning at three I stepped out again and only one dog barked (the loudest voice of them all. It belongs, I believe, to my near neighbor. He claims he has good hearing.)
Twenty minutes later I stepped out and all remained quiet.
It’s a game to me. Why the dopers want to know when I exit my home I haven’t a clue. But they do. All the alarms are set each and every day, and night. The problem, they are finding, is when I figured out what was going on I deliberately plotted random times to expose myself to the noises.
And the animals have died out one by one. There use to be ten.
Now only one or two.
I’ve spoken with the village council members and they claim, in spite of my stated belief, that the real bums about paying their bills are the dopers. The village pointed out that it isn’t the dopers in arrears, it is the alcoholic’s.
I suppose then that the dopers have the money for the toy’s they play with and allow me to play with them also – although, with the decline in participating members, either through getting tired of getting up at three a.m. to turn off the alarms, or their neighbors, less heavily involved with slumber that are bothered with the dogs and chickens at that hour and who are not hesitant to voice displeasure, one would not inquire.
It’s a village thing.
No one would think of telling me that they know their neighbors perform such acts – “I don’t want those people over to my place.” , nor would I tell them I know what their neighbor’s do.
So. They suffer my early morning forage’s out the back door. And the daily, during working hours even, exits and entries to the patio.’
I look forward to my early morning sojourns.
Tomorrow is Christmas. The season of religion and forgiving and cheer and congeniality.
You all have a Merry Christmas. One and all.
I know I will spread the spirit at three a.m.. Just because I know I can.
From the reaches,