It's so damn loud outside I can't hear myself think.
I'm trying to be contemplative because there's a lot on my mind right now.
Goddess and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, have retreated inside to get away from the noise but it's too cold in there for me.
Sitting in the bright sunshine, working on my all over tan, I'm wondering how many cicada does it take to make a choir?
Suddenly a hoodlum gang of squirrels get in a fight in the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt and it's even louder.
Grabbing one of Goddess' tennis balls, I hurl it in the branches of the Palm Tree and the squirrels, thugs that they are, scurry away.
Resuming my seat, I prop my feet on the rail noting the choir of cicada have chased away the choir of birds.
It reminds me of the time the choir in the Methodist Church sang "How many stars will there be in my crown?" while the Baptist Church choir next door sang, "No Not One."
Church jokes really are the worse jokes.
My cell phone buzzes and it's Samuel Adams, who used to play damn good live music on Tybee Island, actually following up with a text.
Miracles really do happen!
"SHUT UP!" I yell at the choir of cicada. "IT'S SAM FOR GOD'S SAKE! HE NEVER WRITES!"
Apparently unconcerned about whatever it is Sam has to say, the choir of cicada sing louder.
Finally looking at his text I read, "I'll get back to you after I make a Doctor's appointment. ASAP! Peace!"
It strikes me this is the longest text message Sam's ever sent.
Goddess meanders out to check on me.
"You think Cicada are charismatic?" I ask.
Our lovely Golden Retriever mixed with Boarder Collie lays down at my feet, sighs heavily and covers her ears with paws.
"Yeah I think so too," I concur. "They only know Heavy Metal Hymns. Damn charismatics!"
Goddess nods and closes her eyes.
