The Quiet man and woman are listening. They are everywhere. Smiling and listening. Pondering what they have heard. Slow to speak but quick to learn. Non-judgmental but observant. Harsh words and brash rhetoric are off-putting. Logic is their forte. Clown shows do not excite them. Theatre is to their liking. People are wonderful; they require a charged battery. We introverts must withdraw to recharge. Often we hear the extrovert brag on their accomplishments. We take note and admire. We introverts do not feel the need to comment on our lives. We were there. No audience required.

‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.’ Some of us do the aid thing quietly. Talk to an introvert loner thinker. They have a compendium of knowledge and wisdom. They think big thoughts mulled for years. The Roman Candle eclipsees the light of the little wax candle. Yet the wax candle burns each day and night while the Roman Candle is temporary. Of late, the brasest braggart captures the heart of the political arena. ‘Look at all I have done; I am rich; only I can protect you,’ the President said. ‘I went to good schools; I have a good brain; I consult with myself on critical decisions,’ P continued. The Carolina Wren sings. The House Finch looks around. The Cedar Waxwing shakes her head.

We introverts are like the three birds on the branch, with one of us confused. ‘How did one man do so much?’ the Cedar Waxwing says. ‘I do not get out much but have never heard such talk from a human,’ the House Finch observed. ‘I prefer to sing and let the people make what a logical assessment is.

Billy B sat in class and said little. He heard the pretty new teacher make suggestive comments to the senior boys. She was either attempting to be hip or had more serious designs. Billy B considered that the new teacher was not much older than her class. Billy B raised his hand on a few occassions but the new teacher never called on him. The class was Literature appreciation, and he had thoughts on the narrative being discussed. New Teacher preffered to talk at length with her club.

We introvert loners do not feel left out. A sense of place is our mantra. We know who we are and are satisfied with ourselves in our Place. The spotlight is harsh; you can not see the audience. Some think us unfriendly when we know what it is to be a friend. It is not mouthing the words I love you or apeing the mammalian motions of affection. Love means more than words; it is actions.

Introverts care deeply. They think deeply. They feel deeply. Salesman candied apple talk is repulsive. Loners are searching for real.

The air had a special smell. It was alive with the possibilities of youth. George and Helen had on their swimsuits. Reclining in lawn chairs in 1962. They had thick Chicago accents. George called Billy B Doc. Billy B’s Dad was doing the grilling. Dad George and Helen had Schlitz Beer. It smelled funny, Billy B thought. Dad wore his motorcycle cap. He loved his Harley. Neva J and Ivy played badminton. Neva J loved badminton. She twisted her ankle one time and was laid up from badminton duty. Susie and Steve were there. Steve brought his Marionettes.

‘Come on down and join us on stage, Punch said to Billy B. ‘You will be the star of our show,’ Punch continued. ‘See my bat; it is for Cricket,’ Punch laughed. ‘I have thought to take it to the Cuban Missile Crisis negotiations with Krushcheve and Kennedy,’ Punch winked. ‘This Crisis has not happened yet, but soon,’ Punch informed with a sly grin. ‘Hard times are ahead, but puppets help,’ Punch noted.

‘Too much talk, Punch. For Billy B, let him enjoy the cookout,’ Judy said. ‘What is coming during his life is more than he can bear; it must be taken one day at a time,’ Judy lectured. ‘He must focus on the good; the bad will take care of itself,’ Judy assured. ‘We will be around if he needs us a little older and worse for wear, but around for a rollicking Puppet Show,’ Judy danced. ‘Do not speak of the ending, as it is darkest before the dawn,’ Judy said.

‘You better wake up, Doc,’ George said. ‘Everyone has gone into the house to see a National Address by President Kennedy,’ George noted. ‘Take a hot dog and hamburger with you Helen, get me another Schlitz, please,’ George asked.

Summer had a short reprieve. It is back. Next Saturday will be August. Time for making autumn plans. The clock is ticking. Peace comes with purpose. Where is the hook? Not for fishing for life. What gets you up in the morning? What do you think about late at night or when the evening shadows fall? Our Earth is a magnificent place with so much to do that we will never get it all done. We can do much of it. Perhaps movies are your passion. Watching movies, collecting movies, examining movies and their meanings. Reading is one of mine. I am always reading a book. Every day of the year. When I consider life, books are part of the consideration and sense of place.

‘I enjoy listening to Joey Bishop and Regis Philbin talk on the Joey Bishop Show,’ Billy B said. ‘I can not see the TV as the show comes on after my bedtime during the school week, but I can hear the sound as Neva J watches it in the living room.’ ‘Joey Bishop’s voice was comforting. I went to sleep listening to it,’ Billy B noted. Earl was a mercurial presence, but Joey was a constant source of happiness and security,’ Billy B winked.

‘I love going to Thrift Shops and picking up outfits for 50 cents or a dollar,’ Neva J laughed. ‘While others are spending up to $50 for matching pants and blouse, I spend 50 cents,’ Neva J danced on one foot and then the other. ‘I have found a secret that many do not know,’ Neva J continued. ‘When I am at church or the grocery I secretly know my buying power and marvel at finding what looks like new clothes at small prices,’ Neva J winked.

‘As I entered the Grocery this morning, a man asked me if I would care to donate some food for the hungry, as he gave me a grocery bag for the mission,’ Chet said. ‘What a rush of joy it was to buy items for the bag, knowing how it would help someone who needed it,’ Chet mused. ‘I will never know how much they appreciate the food; I know how good it made me feel,’ Chet said softly. ‘I can not wait until I can do it again,’ Chet proclaimed.

Neva J was not well, Alzheimer’s. She remembered giving to her many friends. The giving kept her going. A reason to live.

We get tired. Tired and sick. Our bodies fall away. Someone is counting on us. They are watching us and listening to everything we say. We all are the world to someone.
When they feel depressed, they look to us for encouragement. As Willie Nelson sings, Take off your coat and throw it in the corner, I don’t know why you do not stay a little longer.’

Cool wind, calm evening Friday night. An evening for making plans. Soon, Friday evening will mark the end of school. The beginning of the weekend. Time for a Monster Movie and a bottle of Chocola. Next Friday is the end of July. Three months from now is the Old Man’s birthday. Next month is the State Fair. The Headless Man will be there. Mysteries under the lights. A world ahead, a life ahead, nothing to dread. Sometimes kids know things. The hidden plan is revealed on Friday Nights. There are familiar steps. Scenes seen before.

‘At least we have a nice house this time,’ Chet thought. Chet was three years old. Chet had been there before. His thoughts were old; his body young. Chet remembered the outdoor cookouts, Neva J playing badminton, George and Helen sunning themselves. Chet knew Dad was troubled just behind his eyes where the soul looks out. Dad had fought in WW II in the Pacific Theatre. His eyes had seen more than his soul could contain. He hoisted Chet on his shoulder and danced around the house with Chet laughing and tears coming out of his eyes.

Neva J did the Twist with Chubby Checker. Neva J was mid-30s but felt 10 years younger. Her family was Pentecostal, but she preferred to read Edgar Cayce. Neva J liked a Slo-Gin Fizz and fun at the Honky Tonk. There was preaching there as well by the barstool ministers. Neva J waited for Bill while he was away fighting the War. They had been poor but were now middle class in the suburbs. Bill played Jai Lai and Neva J played badminton. Bill smoked Lucky Strikes and made flicking a cigarette lighter an art form.

Lady And The Tramp on the Silver Screen. Chicago was lit up like the State Fair. Shoppers and theatregoers were scurrying about in the cold snow. The Disney Movie was a smash at the box office. Ivy was there, and Bob Susie held Chet’s hand, and Steve munched popcorn. Lady was so pretty, Chet thought as his girlfriend Susie held his hand. They were going to see Grandma A in Eldorado for Christmas. Nugget would be there barking and showing his little teeth. He had a menacing smile. The little family of three would take the car, as it would be too cold for the Harley. Christmas Carols and long silence. Things left unsaid. Laughter and hugs at Grandma A’s. Fudge and divinity. Neva J’s coffee cake. Presents to open, a heady conflation of relatives seldom seen yet seemingly loving. Chubby Checker singing Christmas songs and Neva J secretly twisting the night away.

It is Friday again. A good day for looking back and forward. Back at the year that has been and forward to the coming events. Soon we will have five months left in 2026. It will go quickly. The BER months are almost here. My favorite time. October brings my 69th birthday, or as I say, almost 70. I drop that line now and again to make a point. There is joy in the journey.

‘I love floating on the deep water,’ Billy B thought as the birds sang. ‘Next Saturday will be August 1st, and then school begins,’ Billy B thought as he was lost in the water. ‘I wonder who that man is waving to me on the far bank of the lake,’ Billy B mused. ‘He looks strangely familiar,’ Billy B said.

‘Hello there, matey,’ the Familiar Man said. ‘You are adept at floating,’ FM noted. ‘I lived in a little town near here many years ago,’ FM remarked. ‘My wife and I and our little boy who looked a lot like you,’ FM continued. ‘He loved to float too and spent hours on the deep water with only his face showing,’ FM recalled. ‘We divorced, and I moved away,’ FM spoke softly.

‘Mom says the hot dogs and hamburgers are ready,’ Boy announced with a wide smile. ‘Cousin Brenda is going to join us for a picnic lunch,’ Boy continued. ‘Then I will float in the deep water while you swim,’ Boy told his Dad. ‘Later we will go to Granma A’s house for watermelon,’ Boy said. ‘Nugget will be barking and baring his teeth if we get too close,’ Boy laughed. ‘I will sleep on the couch and Narky, Grandma’s new name for Nugget, will sleep in the chair watching me throughout the night,’ Boy observed.

Out of the trees walked a lovely brunette woman in her 30s, who called to the Familiar Man and his son to come for dinner. Billy B considered, as he floated on the deep water, that the Boy was him…

Cool weather brings calm thoughts. A breakfast at Cracker Barrel brightens the day. Good to see Ron and Ira Kaye. School. begins in August. The summer is racing by. The birds are in full-throated glory. We are happy to be in the game. ‘Serenity now,’ Frank Costanza said. It has been said that everybody is working for the weekend. Every day should be the weekend when it comes to happiness and a sense of place.

It is time to gather the school supplies. The paste, crayons, paper, and pencils. New shoes, slacks, and a shirt or two. A fresh haircut. What were we learning in the spring? Will third grade be harder than second? Will there still be milk breaks?

Eldorado is different than Sauk Village. Friends all along my street, Billy B thought of Sauk Village. Marionette Shows and badminton. Westerns and more westerns. John Wayne was a hero to little boys. He sauntered rather than walked. Pounds Hollow would be drawing to a close soon. Swimming trips were wonderful. Floating on the deep water alone without a care or concern. Is it really time for school to begin again?

Monster movies on Friday night. Catching fireflies in a bottle. No thought of books or teachers’ dirty looks. Sleep late or later. Watermelon and cantaloupe. Salt shaker in the garden. Watch Johnny Carson, Joey Bishop, or the late movie. Is it really time for school to begin?

A cool breeze is blowing. Different, unique, special. Something is off. We know it’s waiting for the solution. We are moving in the wrong direction. We do not know when it began. It was a slow drift on the open ocean. First, it was still water like a mirror. Nothing to worry about; sails hung loose. Churchgoers were looking for the promise. A messenger was coming: John the Baptist. He would say great and mysterious things. Would he eat wild honey? Someone to point the way. Someone who would know what to do. Someone ready.

The Carolina Chickadee sang to the Black-bellied Whistler. Some said a storm is coming. Beware! Others asked Are you the one we have waited for? It has been 40 days in this wilderness, and no answer from God. Perhaps he has forgotten us. Perhaps he has other fish to fry. This man has answers. He seems unafraid. He speaks in riddles like parables. He says one thing and another happens. Kings fear him. He is reminiscent of King David. He is reawakened to Christ. Billy Graham’s son speaks well of him, as does Jerry Falwell Jr.

Disease is up; health is down. Drink your milk from the teat, the wise man with the important name said. Vaccinations bad the brain Worm said with a grin. Do not worry about tomorrow; just live from day to day and trust and obey.

The Old Man felt the New Wind. It smelled like babies’ breath and honeysuckle. There was a promise in it. The promise that family brings. The promise that empathy provides. No Red or Blue but the colors of the human family that God created. ‘Red, Yellow, Black and White all are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little Children of the World.’

A New Wind blowing softly, a promise for the children. The old ways are the best. Be kind to each other. Help each other. Give of your hearts, hands, and minds. We who are waiting for His coming…be patient and find the Prophet at your neighbor’s hospital bed or on the street of the forgotten.

The Cedar Waxwing watches along with the Yellow-throated Vireo as the New Wind tosses the leaves and calms the nerves of worried people. The New Wind makes the children laugh and the old dance. It was promised from the foundation of the World. No hidden agenda, no monetization of religion. It was not in the golden statue; it was in the air for all to breathe.

We live in the Two-World Matrix. There is the World of the calm, serene sense of place, and there is the world of heated rhetoric, lies, distortions, and the joy of war. The Worlds coincide like parallel universes. The birds sing around the Writing Porch while the war with Iran heats up. People are dying while politicans grow fat in guarded security to say whatever evil that travels through their brains. Vacation season is in full bloom while bombs fall from the sky.

‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave/when first we practice to deceive.’

Heaven and hell, light and dark, storms and sunshine walking side by side. It is possible to step between Worlds.

The people of the night are preparing. They enjoy the night, the dark clouds, and the stormy skies. There is comfort in the quiet. There is rest in the thunder. Rain makes them sleepy. The night has less. Less noise, less clutter, less distraction. Easy to focus. No questions with no answers. Small ball, small beer, small life. The humongous is downsized. The introvert’s haven. No one to impress, no one watching. Deadlines are softened. Happiness is highlighted. Perfect peace.

Practice makes perfect, but who wants to be perfect? Isn’t good good enough? How about credit for trying? The World was built by trying people. Not experts, nor professionals, influencers, nor the wealthy. People who were a bit afraid but gave it their best; there was no one else to call on. A New World with bitter cold winters and sickness all around, no food nor friends. Tobacco that made a body feel better if you could stand the smoke. Native Americans with their own culture understood the New World; it was not new to them.

‘What is your draft number? Do you have a high number?’ Billy asked Danny. ‘We must answer the President’s call to fight for the world in Vietnam…why are we fighting?’ Danny asked. ‘It seems the least the President could do is give us a reason for dying young for his ego,’ Billy said softly. ‘I am off to Basic Training,’ Danny said as he waved goodbye.

‘We have won the war in Iran,’ President Trump said. ‘We control the Strait of Hormuz,’ PT continued. ‘We are fighting so the Iranians will not get a nuclear bomb,’ PT proclaimed. ‘Let me show you the latest photos of my New Ballroom,’ PT said with a dance in his step.

The Mallard quacked as he swam across Brooks Pond. The Mourning Dove sang. The Downy Woodpecker kept the syncopation. Tomorrow is a New World if we can keep it.

‘July is almost gone; back to school in August,’ Jane said. ‘Where did the summer go?’ Jane moaned. ‘We have not taken our big adventure, and it is Dog Days,’ Jane laughed. ‘I think Cave In Rock Cave would be an excellent summer conquest,’ Jane announced. ‘I hear there is a secret passage that no one has returned from,’ Jane winked. ‘We shall take the passage and discover the mystery,’ Jane danced. ‘Some say the passage in the cave is a time tunnel,’ Jane noted. ‘Perhaps we will be transported to the time of Homer’s Odyssey,’ Jane proclaimed!

‘When you turn your flashlight out, it is pitch dark,’ Chet remarked. ‘I attached twine at the entrance so we can follow it out of the cave,’ Chet continued. ‘Buddy did some spelunking here in 1978 and was never heard from again, Chet observed. ‘He wore a Miner’s helmet with a light on top,’ Chet said. ‘The Helmet was found with the lamp still burning,’ Chet said softly. ‘This is the Tunnel of Mystery that Buddy took,’ Chet commented as they entered. ‘Look to your right; there is a path veering off the main walkway that has ancient Greek artifacts and another path to the left, which looks like it leads to the 1920s,’ Chet said excitedly. ‘Straight ahead is Hillcrest School,’ Chet noted just before they fell.

‘Here we are; it is August, and we are back at school,’ Jane said with a forlorn look. Why didn’t we take the path to ancient Greece or the 1920s?’ Jane asked.

‘Look out the window for a surprise,’ Chet laughed.

Ancient Greece was laid out in all of its splendor in the window facing right, and the 1920s were displayed outside the left window. A ball of twine was on each of their desks.

The crickets are singing. A mower hums in the distance. Over 20 different birds sing their evening songs. Evening Songs are special. Songs of joy and peace at the end of the day. Songs of hope for tomorrow. Songs coming from minds and hearts, throats and chests we think little of in our quest for perfection. The Bullfrog Quartet appreciates the melodious songs of the diverse bird family. The singers are from across the country and the world, singing around Brooks Pond. They think not of the artificial borders of humans.
Theirs is the joy of living. They want to tell all who will listen about the ecstasy!

We are singers singing the songs of our lives. From Blow The Man Down to Brother Can You Spare a Dime. We want to be heard in the vast void. For a moment we were here. We lived and loved. We laughed and cried. We lived and died. As the old song says, we were looking for a city where we would never die. We looked for a city where we would never have to say goodbye.

The Bullfrogs are preparing for their performance. Their hearts are full of joy for the Earth as they see it from their vantage point. The sun is setting, and the animal kingdom is fine with that. Soon it will be time to put the kids to bed. Perhaps some hot chocolate and a leftover scone from morning. Mrs. Beaver has a new book, ‘Humans and How to Understand Them.’ Mr. Beaver is drawing up additional plans for the Dam of 2026. The trees have peculiar shadows. Red and gold among the green.