Up extra early.  Clock says 4:50 AM, EST or 1:50 AM, PST, if ya listenin.  Eventful day awaits.  Gots some unfinished business that’s been lingerin since 1972.  Same year Verrazano Bridge toll increased from fifty to seventy-five cents.  Baby brotha died that year, as my high school journey began.  O Rodney, O Rodney, “Wherefore Art Thou?”  (Genesis 3:9) My search, my lament or just my high school poem?  Ain’t been to da grave site since 1972, but I did write a poem, it was buried in 1975.  Didn’t know where to find either since they were laid to rest.  But, through divine intervention, now I do.  So happy it’s found, ain’t even bothered cemetery was segregated, and poem was about unrequited love.  Imagine that in 1972.  Now written on my heart is, Range 32, Grave 85, Section “I”, and “Wherefore Art Thou.”  Headin across the bridge to place a family “Ebenezer.”  For “Thus far the Lord has helped us.” (1 Samuel 7:12).  Mornin thoughts of victory.  Woke up this mornin with my mind stayed on a buried brohta and a buried poem, as I Monday muse for the first time outdoors. 

Catchin mornin sights, Inhalin mornin air, hearin mornin sounds.  Nature has a mornin look, smell and sound of its own.   Am I adjustin to nature’s ‘summa time’ cycle? Or, am I up cause I needs a new pillow?  Neck a lil stiff.  Must be option B.  Used to love that My Pillow guy.  ‘Coulda been a contenda.’  Until, until.  Shoulda bought second one before things got political.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda.  “Don’t git high on your own supply.”  Tony Montana, it’s sage wisdom.  Even for corporate America.  Fergit the neck ache, “thus far the Lord has helped us,” and blessed to be musing outdoors.  Now pay attention.  How can I! These Cicadas makin all this noise!  Seventeen-year mating ritual you say?  Well come 2018, I hope they book a room!  I’d like some quiet as I muse.  Darn Cicadas!  Now you done woke the birds!  They too must be sportin fer some early morning lovin…LOL…nature all X-rated in the mornin.  Birds noisily pimpin in trees, instead of quietly catchin worms.  “Chirp, chirp,” my foot, or other parts or the anatomy you git to refer to as an adult.  Nature you sho is busy, and noisy too!  But, “thus far the Lord has helped us,” (7:12) so it’s cool. 

Tryin to focus and finish.  That Verrazano toll might rise again iffin I don’t hurry.  It has!  Up to seventeen dollas this mornin?  Dang it, Cicadas and birds, now you done woke that ‘waskally wabbit.’  Mind driftin to thoughts of Elmer Fudd runnin by.  Focus, focus.  Muse time, in the words of da ole skool chrch, ‘is impotant!’  DANG IT!  Got buzzed by a bee.  Now thinkin, nature is noisy and rude.  All I want to do is muse.  Wonderin if that bee an activist?  Greta could use some backup.  Bees live matter!  Foolish of me to be out in nature, complainin bout, nature bein nature.  Query?  Why you leavin out all da (g)s this mornin?  Spell check gettin pissed off!  Rhetorical protest of sorts.  Semantical dialectic posture amongst me, myself and I, as all three prepare to depart with these stones of remembrance to be placed on segregated soil.   Will restore the (g)s in due course.  Isn’t the Lord’s power to make, “all things new again,” (Revelations 21:5) absolutely awesome and worthy of praise?  

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Church of the Covenant NYC