As he watched the bird dipped again slanting his wings for the dive and then swinging them wildly and ineffectually as he followed the flying fish. The old man could see the slight bulge in the water that the big dolphin raised as they followed the escaping fish. The dolphin were cutting through the water below the flight of the fish and would be in the water, driving at speed, when the fish dropped. It is a big school of dolphin, he thought. They are wide spread and the flying fish have little chance. The bird has no chance. The flying fish are too big for him and they go too fast.
There's a lot of beauty in this passage. The man of war bird. Flying fish. School of dolphins. Hemingway knows how to write about nature.
It was a long, long day of work. Scheduling concerts. Writing scripts. Answering emails. Then, when I got home, I ate dinner and went to clean at church for a few more hours. Cleaning bathrooms. Mopping marble floors. Vacuuming carpets. Emptying trash cans. Collecting recyclables. I finally got done with everything close to 9 p.m.
There wasn't a whole lot of time to stop and take deep breaths. No flying fish or birds or rabbits. I didn't even stop to look at the moon tonight, which is unusual. Now, I'm sitting on my couch, watching a Twilight movie. For noise. Company. Everyone else is asleep. They're not great films, but they're not terrible, either. Like an old blanket that hasn't been washed and still smells like your dead father.
I can hear a dog barking in the night. Aside from the TV, my house is silent. Every once in a while, I can hear my son move in his bed, and the bedframe squeaks. My wife snores off and on. And Bella and Edward and Jacob go through their supernatural teenage crises.
Saint Marty is getting in touch with his inner vampire/werewolf child tonight.
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