An emerald-green-grass-fairway.

And high on its sides and above, a deep-blue-North Carolina sky

with a herd of white, puffy, buffalo drifting by,

stretches out before my eye through the picture windows walling

my Senior-Living-Communities indoor swimming pool

as I force march my body through the 4 foot deep water.

That lovely, broad picture of that modern, manicured equivalent

of medieval jousting lists,

the Golf Course.

It’s out there in front me as I turn and return,

lap by lap, back and forth and back and forth

on sunny Summer days

or through Spring showers

or Winter winds.

It’s a fine sight to behold as I do my daily exercises,

plastic-fitness-swimming-pads strapped to my hands

to enhance the workout,

pushing my way through the pool,

making waves on glass-pane-flat-water.

Sometimes, I even break a sweat on my forehead

while the rest of my body’s kept cool,

immersed in the pool.

I enjoy the routine.

I call it my “55 minutes of perpetual motion”.

A fine whole body stretch and workout,

good for my olderly-ing body’s

shoulders, biceps, triceps, core, waist and knees.

I try for 3, sometimes 4, workouts a week, successfully.

Once in a while I get 5 if Nancy hasn’t made plans for me.

I’ve come to enjoy my elevated heart rate.

(And it pleases my Cardio-Doctor as well.)

And the view through the window

and the occasional chuckle I have over

the frustrated obscenities imminating from a golfer

on a near-by green who just missed an 8 inch putt for par,

the little pock-marked-moon rolling in the air right over the hole,

coming to rest 2 feet away on the opposite side,

thus accounting for the blue haze, blanketing the 8th hole.

(She must be a recent escapee from the cold North.

Ohio, maybe, or perhaps New York as I once was, ages ago.

So not yet acclimated to this peaceful, Southern temperament,

that Ol’ Rebel Yell receding into the past…)

It’s all good for my aging body

and it maintains my souls equanimity.

While it’s neither the 10K’s nor the 5 Marine Corps Marathons

I ran in my exhausted 30’s and 40’s,

at 77, I cherish the surcease of my labors

and the physical benefits and my peace of mind….

UNTIL NOW.

For now, some damn bird has deficated

right smack dap in the middle of the picture window

right at the end of my lane!

May have been some mother…Thrasher

searching for grubs in the mulch for her chicks,

or, considering the dimensions of the mess,

a big Crow….

Certainly not a Wren or a Sparrow!

Far too much crap from not enough bird!

The spreading load necessitating A Big Bird,

able to dive-bomb the opaque window-wall,

pull-up-sharp and let it rip!

Splattering against the glass,

an 8, maybe 9 inch drooling smear

right at eye-level as I near!

Gone, now,

the uninterrupted green and blue expanse of natural, (if man made) beauty!

So, now comes the moment

for a philosophical quandary,

a psychological pop-quiz

in the midst of my quasi-daily focus on my physicality.

To wit:

On which view will I concentrate?

300 yards of calming beauty,

or, much closer, instead,

8 inches of spread shit

like Chunky Peanut Butter on Pumpernickel Bread?

Can I see beyond the closer, disgusting, disheartening view

out into that heavenly green and blue?

It is, really, my own decision to make!

Look beyond the immediate mess to concentrate on the long view?

Try to ignore the shit for the sake of Beauty, otherwise obscured?

You know, of course, this excrement’s a metaphor

I’ve confronted many times before,

when making pivotal decisions concerning my life, for sure!

Like Baptism

into some questionable theological quagmire,

promising me heaven by making my life a living hell

with all those pesky, bothersome questions about

some particularly enjoyable behaviors I do not want

to be made to feel guilty about!

Or Marriage!

To propose or not to propose?

After all, no one’s perfect and I am sure she will change,

once the wedding vows are spoken

(and she’s so damn good in bed….!)

So what’s a giggle that sounds like strangulation!!

There it is!

Take the long view

or choose to stare at the shit on the window.

That’s the long or the short of it!

Shit or Sky, Buddy….

Shit or Sky?