...the sky is grey/ I've been for a walk....
The sky is a stormy sea. Foamy clouds twist and writhe. A lady walks to her car, prim in working woman skirt and shoes. Her perfume washes over me, carried by breeze that churns leaves and branches into green froth.
Airborne, an ordinary squirrel becomes a flying one, in a startled leap from fence rail to a tree just out of reach. And yet it clings to the bark after all, remains still a moment, stunned, before scampering spiral up into sheltering leaves. The squirrels have gone mad, maaaaaad. They taunt and tease and dart and dash. The Questing Sniff tugs my joints askew. He thinks he can climb trees to catch these furry impertinents. The leash bites my hand, burns my wrist as it lightning snakes, following frenzied dog.
That Girl has given me a bit of Brie, and I sit in a haze of leg-filled dust that is at this moment my stage. The Brie is amazing. I close my eyes, for I hold the ocean in my mouth. Rattle of drying leaves becomes roar of surf, and high-pitched excited voices become sharp seagull cries. The briny cheese melts away, and the vision fades. I open my eyes.
She's watching my face.
Silently, she snickers, points a finger, does a mocking mimic of ecstasy.
And offers me more Brie.
Life is good.
(California Dreamin'; The Mamas and the Papas)