Sit very still for a couple minutes under a tree every day. If you're a city person and have been unnaturally conditioned to dislike trees and to think they are "dirty," well, then sit on a bench next to some pigeons pecking at asphalt. Pigeons have iridescent patches around their necks somewhere. These feathered urbanites are miracles of nature, glorious specimens of birdhood. Trees are stubborn and strong (and dirty) and always make one feel less haggy than one otherwise might if left alone amongst buildings, buses, and the general public. Have I become a misanthrop, you may ask? No, I just think that we're sort of:
and since I so admire Frank Zappa's irreverence, here's another serving of it.
P.S.--This is for anyone not horribly offended by this blog post. Please visit www.phoebewilcox.com to find out about my coming-of-age novel, Angels Carry the Sun. I also have written a poetry chapbook. My books are pretty good but have not blazed a trail to the top of the NY Times Best-seller list.