.jpg)
I was well into my second cup, I cleared the breakfast dishes to the kitchen sink, and trying my best to imitate the long deceased Mrs. Mearn, who when her boys weren’t behaving said nothing, just gave them the look.
Well me being neither man’s mom I was paid no heed. I refilled my cup heading for the porch door, older brother’s contention was that no meal wasn’t a lot better without some cheese, breakfast omelet, topped with cheese, better, lunch, grilled cheese with soup, better, dinner cheesy au gratin potatoes, better. Younger brother counters with as I’m exiting, yeah what cheese goes on corn flakes, or oatmeal or raisin bran. I closed the door, and was instantly aware of yet another skirmish of sorts, one robin chasing about after another, hmmm, male adoration of a potential mate, rival males protecting their turf, and then I wondered if by chance the robins may have been brothers, and would a worm be better with cheese on it.
Above, and quite high up at that, in a balsam not riddled of the worm decimating many more pines, chorales a redwing blackbird, shoulder boards resplendent orange, singing for all and to not one other of its kind, I sipped my coffee to it in thanks.
Spring sure riles things up, and then I thought, I bet you could put yogurts like the blueberry or raspberry flavors on breakfast cereals, and turned round and went to tell the brother unlike me, me being a cheese fan what I thought.
I set my coffee on the table and made my claim, the brother of the royale order of cheese lovers readily sided with me, the less cheesy enthusiastically inclined brother, responds, “Don’t be an idiot, yogurt isn’t even a cheese.” I looked up out the window at the blackbird, sitting there all by himself, just being nice.
- The Trout Whisperer
