Which I do not do. Especially not uphill. Not anymore.
My legs aren't as hard and wiry as they used to be.
The falcons like the high rises in the Financial District. In past years office workers would post pictures of nests on high ledges, and we'd keenly follow the progress of the raptor families, watching the young fledglings grow to adulthood as if they were our own. What with the quieter city streets, there is more wildlife here, so it's probably perfect hunting terrain.
About six years ago while waiting for the bus to Marin one morning I saw a falcon snatch a parrot out of mid-air above Van Ness Avenue. The other parrots had been cheerfully raucous up to that moment.
But they were dead silent immediately afterwards.
The other wild life which seems to be flourishing once again is the insane street people. Yesterday on the way home from the bus stop there was a loony in each block, one of whom believed himself to be a burrowing animal. A mole, perhaps, but with a mask. Good man.
When my mother lived here during her youth, there probably weren't as many crazies, but there must have been falcons and coyotes, and the mountain lions down the peninsula were probably more numerous than they are now. There were also brown bears in some of the suburbs. Raccoons were always here, but the parrots (Psittacara erythrogenys) had not escaped yet and gone native.
There were also more pipe smokers. An old news photo of passengers on the ferry shows a huge number of men with overcoats, hats, newspapers, and pipes, heading to work in the downtown. Thanks to the pandemic we may be increasing in number again.
One of the things that determines how good a pipe can be is how distinct the taste gradations of tobacco are when the pipe is smoked; how broad the flavour-spectrum is, and how defined the nuances. Admittedly, you are sabotaging your taste buds from the moment you light up, but if from start to finish there are rewards, you will enjoy the smoke. It will take about two to four hours for "freshness" to return to your tongue. People who constantly have a pipe going may tend toward either stronger flavours, OR not have much sense of taste and smell by the middle of the day. Or just not care very much.
That first pipe of the day is often amazing. This morning I grabbed the pipe pictured above, which I purchased from Marty Pulvers many years ago. It's one of my favourite briars, but that isn't saying much as I usually have over thirty pipes ready for smoking on the tea tray near my chair, which represents only a part of the collection.
There's also a bag full of restoration projects I'll get to eventually in the other room. There may be some good stuff in there; I haven't looked at them in a long time. Some pipes come back marvelously from the dead, with help.
The wild life will be more evident in the evening. As well as the insane folks. They sort of fade into background when there are more people about, and anyhow their circadian rythms tend toward crepuscular.
Almost as if they are lepidotorous pollinators.
Flitting about, madly, ghost-like.
Social moths.
There used to be more drunks around at that hour.
But bar hopping is no longer possible.
It's quieter now.
Lunch was a thick slice of buttered toast with chunky marmalade.
Tea was juicy potstickers with a cooked citrus chili paste.
Both peppers and marmalade are vegetables.
It's healthy eating.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
No comments:
Post a Comment