"Hemmingway's Whisky"

Standing in the kitchen making an unhurried lunch, listening to a Guy Clark tribute... various artists weighing in with their take on wonderfully written songs. Inserted into lulls and spaces I'm caught by the wind chimes singing clear tones out on the newly painted deck. Sunny winds heavy with the scent of Jasmine circle and play in the yard. Grouper that liked the look of a fisherman's treat earlier this morning now blackened and laid out in a casket of crusty bread still warm from the oven. Dressed up with a white coat of capers, diced pickled okra and a squeeze of lemon mixed with just enough real mayo to bind it all together. A side of new white corn scraped from the cob, microwaved to retain the natural sugars. Real butter, ground pepper. Cold light beers with lime, maybe a shot or two of vodka from the freezer. Out on the lake, Anhingas look like cartoon snakes swimming in electrified waters,  bodies submerged, long necks writhing up from the flat surface. An osprey launched from the leaning pine behind us, circles and calls before it stalls to get a better look at its own fish dinner swimming below. Squirrels run rings around the three big oaks as my dogs study them, all doing their best Moe, Larry & Curly, frantically chasing from tree to tree. Now demanding my attention,  Kristofferson sings Clark's , “Hemmingway's Whiskey”, his worn rasp of a voice carries through the open door to the deck and grabs me...insisting that I really listen.