hawk and mouse

After a long and deliberating conference at the office I decided to take myself outside for a walk around the courtyard. Framingham can be so beautiful in August.

Indeed, that's what I thought while traversing brick pathways amongst clever green landscaping. Dodging hydrangea bushes and daffodils, the deep blue sky commanded my attention. Wings spread wide; a hawk was soaring above.

He was gliding in the wind circling figure-eight patterns, probably looking for a tasty mouse morsel or a crisp of chipmunk. I couldn’t help but watch him intently, using my imagination to pretend I was that devious vagabond in the sky.

I'd love to be that hawk. Though I’ve never eaten a rodent, the freedom of flight would be breathtaking. The unshackled liberation from responsibility would check my stimulus into the stratosphere allowing breezes up my shorts and riches in pockets.

Walking forwards with my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds I continued to stare upward. Step by step, my thoughts bounced up the springing vestibule walls of possibility.

I tripped. (suddenly and out of the blue...I might add)

Crashing down, my skin scrapped over the ledge of an unoperational fountain. Far be it for me to be flung head over heels by stupid gravity and reoccuring obliviousity. The scene must have been a dramatic one to a bystander.

The episode featured an audible THUNK and a FWAP followed by an 'allie-oomph' cartwheel as I tumbled upside-down, legs up in the air and into the pit. Humiliated, I rolled out of the fountain, (thank god it was empty,) and deceptively walked on imperviously. As an ode to the comedic Ellen DeGeneres I playfully acted out a quick glance behind me while motioning, "what was that?"

Besides mortification, the most egregious injury of my courtyard fountain folly were a pair of skinned knees.

I may be clumsy, but the only witness to the little plummet was the envious hawk, jealous of my cartwheels and complex thoughts.