- Certain regular readers of this space believe I'm - well,
they seem to believe I'm deranged.
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- "Animals talk to you?" wrote one of them recently.
"Trees? Coffee makers? Larry B., you're certifiable!"
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- Hey, for all I know, I am. But if this is crazy, it's
a terrific kind of crazy.
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- Warm.
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- Fulfilling.
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- Connected.
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- Because when you get right down to it, if the world talks
to you, and you respond, whatever else may happen in life, the one feeling
you're not going to feel is loneliness. Ain't no way Ole Certifiable Larry
B. can be alone.
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- My most meaningful conversations, other than those with
the human beings I love, are with the Wind. When it wants to talk, it blows
in from the southeast, sweeping along the road, through the corral and
across the Cloud Creek clearing to wherever I happen to be standing or
sitting, or walking or working, at the time.
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- And no matter what I'm doing, when I hear the Wind coming
I stop and turn to face it. Ever try to make eye contact with the Wind?
It's not easy. At times it can sting. But one thing I've learned during
my years on this planet is that nothing worth doing is easy. And another
thing I've learned is the fact that something's difficult often makes it
more fun.
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- So, when I hear the trees rustling like running water,
I smile at my good friend the Wind and say, in the best Ozarks way, "Hey."
(If I lived in Philadelphia I'd probably say, "Yo." Who says
I'm not adaptable?)
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- Yesterday, as I was filling a five-gallon bucket with
scratch to take to the chickens, the Wind came up slowly. Kind of wafted
over in greeting, bringing with it just the slightest scent of cedar.
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- "Hey," I said.
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- "Hey," said the Wind. "I'm bringing some
snow. Enough, I think, for the school kids to enjoy."
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- "Then I'll enjoy it, too." Then I thought of
something else. "Is this an alert? A warning? We going to have a bad
storm?"
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- "Nothing you can't handle."
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- "You always say that."
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- "Because I know you can handle a lot."
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- I closed up the big bag of chicken scratch. Set a rock
on it to keep it closed. "What else do you know?" I said.
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- "What do you want to know?" said the Wind.
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- I considered. Drew myself up bravely. "How about
we go for the big one?" I said. "What's the meaning of life?"
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- The Wind laughed in a flurry. "I've been waiting
for you to bring that one up for years. What took you so long?"
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- "I was afraid."
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- "Of the answer?"
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- "Of the question," I said, realizing it for
the first time. "I was afraid that if I asked, and you couldn't answer,
it would prove I was nuts. That I wasn't really talking to the Wind, just
to myself. And I couldn't give myself an answer I didn't already know."
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- "But you are talking to yourself," said the
Wind. "All of existence is one. Everything's an aspect of that wholeness.
It's just that the parts don't necessarily communicate that well all the
time. Talking helps bridge the gulf."
-
- "I didn't know that," I said. "At least,
I think I didn't know that."
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- "Ah, then you must feel a little saner right now."
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- "Hmm. Guess so. Except that feels kind of crazy,
too."
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- The Wind laughed again. A sudden gust that rattled the
door of the shed as I closed it behind me. I started toward the chicken
yard. McNugget, the banty rooster, saw me and started crowing. The rest
of the brood rushed to the fence, cackling and singing.
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- "So?" I said to the Wind. "What's the
answer? What's the meaning of life?"
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- I opened the gate carefully, waving the bucket in front
of me to keep the pushiest of the chickens from running out. The two youngsters
in the crowd, little silkies born last August, pushed right up with the
others. "You're pretty brave," I said to them, "now that
you don't peep anymore."
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- "The song is the singer," said the Wind.
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- "Is that it?" I said. "The meaning of
life?"
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- "Could be," said the Wind.
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- I went into the henhouse. Dumped the contents of the
bucket into the feeder, except for a few handfuls that I scattered before
my hungry friends on my way out.
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- The brood silky cackled a question.
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- "Could be," I replied.
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- Copyright C 2007 by Larry Brody. All rights reserved.
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- Author Larry Brody's weekly column, LIVE! FROM PARADISE!
appears on his website, www.larrybrody.com. He has written thousands of
hours of network television, and is the author of "Television Writing
from the Inside Out" and "Turning Points in Television."
Brody is Creative Director of The Cloud Creek Institute for the Arts, the
world's first in-residence media colony. More about his activities can
be seen on www.tvwriter.com and www.cloudcreek.org. He welcomes your comments
and feedback at <mailto:LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org>LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org.
Brody, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion
County, Arkansas. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise
reside in his imagination.
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