sonora2sonoma

 

Sitting at my favorite haunt by the river

but displaced from my usual perch overlooking the water

by a band setting up for a performance,

I seek refuge on a stretch of deck

running down one side of the establishment

with a lesser, but adequate, view of the tiny harbor.

 

The place is crowded!

no one told me it was St. Paddy’s Day.

I sit tentatively at the only spot available

that’s outside, and the day was made for outdoor seating,

as I sip my beer and remain on alert

for the table behind me

the one that’s actually a table and not a wine barrel,

to become vacant.

 

When my neighbors eventually depart

I take possession of their abandoned territory,

whip out my Ipad, and begin to type.

Before long, I become aware of signs of encroachment

embodied in the form of a vanguard of little girls

seeking to infiltrate my refuge

but held back by their attentive adults

as they, three families strong,

congregate NEARBY in celebration of something

bearing resemblance to a family get-together

or an excuse to meet for beers.

 

One of the women is from Spain

another from Colombia,

their accents sounding exotic but puzzling

to my Mexican-conditioned ears.

I pick up bits & pieces–

something about Gabriel Garcia-Marquez

and going to the Big Island

in December.

 

A band plays old folk-music favorites

faithfully

but unremarkably,

an extra sonic dimension

to spice up the already over-stimulated ambiance.

 

The children surge

as the band takes a break

and the party orders more beers

while one of their group sings the praises

of a Marin County beer

with ties to the Grateful Dead–

an apparent selling point

for these well-traveled visitors to our parts.

 

The children pay no attention

to their cross-border origins,

interacting with their peers

without judgment or discernment

as children do everywhere.

 

I peruse the headlines

on my Ipad-version

of the digital edition of the NYT.

Gogi Grant died today.

(Instead of going green, Gogi turned it)

Frank Jr. passed yesterday.

Who will it be tomorrow?

And, who was Gogi Grant, anyway?

If you have to ask . . . don’t bother.

Or go Google Gogi!  Whatever!

 

The waiter comes out

and asks, “Is everything okay?”

to which one of their party responds, “Not really.”

as they order another round

of that GB regarded beer.

 

The music goes on

unremarkably.

I didn’t know they had music at this place!

The ‘Kinder’ crowd

has, inexplicably, settled down.

Perhaps they’re running low on sugar.

I hope no one notices!

 

The food arrives

the children, now fed, gravitate

to the music.

The sun retires

making way for the twilight.

As the breezes die down,

the water becomes like glass,

duplicating the surrounding landscape

like a big soft lens, only upside-down.

 

Soon the egrets will arrive

to bed down in the nearby trees

as is their habit.

 

But not this day, it turns out.

 

Perhaps it’s the recent time-change

or, maybe,

they’re off celebrating St. Paddy’s Day.

 

17 March, 2016

Tim Konrad