I woke up at four this morning, parched mouth, blurry eyes, over warm. I lingered in my groggy discontent for a few moments, before remembering the sights which were to be seen outside. The Perseid Meteor shower was peaking at just before the dawn hours, and it was just before the dawn hours. So I roused myself, wandering outside, boxer shorts, no shirt, feeling too comfortable in such an outfit at such an early hour.

I expected to see the heavens alive. Well, I didn’t really, having experienced the vagaries of the Perseids in the past. But, I did expect to see the heavens.

Pale reflected light was all I saw, a textured shroud covering the sky, not very thick, but thick enough to hide all but the two brightest dots above.

Ah well. Back to bed, to reading Arrowsmith and Jewish Backgrounds (two different books, if that seemed a peculiar title). A little bit of sleep forming an hour later brings me to past the dawn, where I find the shroud torn and broken, blue sky above, only framed in white clouds (which have a twenty percent chance of bringing thunderstorms… though I’m not sure they meant bring them here).

A squirrel on my balcony inquiring about, roused me again. I wandered over and out, poured a cup of critter feed along the rail, and noticed I was being watched. Directly above me, peeking over the edge of the roof, a steller’s jay sat, judging my performance. I said hi, finished the task and went back inside. It fluttered to a branch opposite the balcony and muttered for a while.

Jays have a standard call, a screech, which as I type this one graciously let loose. Three screeches, a pause, then repeat as necessary. Not a pretty, melodious sound.

However, these beatiful black and blue birds have a secret. There is a quite a vocabulary and skill for mimicry within their range of talents. Unseen one would not suspect a jay for the various calls which come from the branches. While they sit on a beam or balcony and perform, it is undeniab.

One sound I’ve been hearing recently, maybe from the same bird, approximates the sound of a squeaking bed. Another, which I’ve heard from several birds is that muttering, a quiet singsong, which almost, but not quite, approaches the tune of a songbird. It seems to be an absent minded expression, maybe even one of contentment. Little whistles, chirps, gurgles, and such fitting together less like a song and more like a musician practicing a song, for the first time, shy and unsure.

These jays are magnificent little birds, a treat one gets only in these mountains.

When it is warm at night, I sleep less soundly and dream more unusually. Or, really, I should say, I dream. I imagine I always do, the experts say that people dream all the time, but only in the restless warmth of an August night do I remember the vague oddities of how my mind turns when unleashed to itself.

Not that I remember specifics, though if I wanted to, I imagine one of those small notepads by the bed to use immediately upon awaking would do the trick. I’m not sure I want to, so I don’t.

But such restless sleep makes for a bit of a restless morning, when plans are adjusted because of either miscommunication on my part or miscommunication asserted to be my part for other reasons.

This evening I have a meeting, a meeting about writing. A door could open, or it could not. To be honest, like always, I want to know where I stand, so I can move forward in some direction.

Someone asked me recently if I was nervous about it. I said I wasn’t. Because, I suppose I am resigned to the hand of God working, and if this sudden, unexpected turn is that path, then wonderful. If not, then steady onwards, finding other paths, trying to put my own foot in a door.

What makes me more nervous is that it is with extended family, an uncle and aunt I’ve seen less times over the course of my life than I have fingers, maybe, as I think about it, as I have fingers on a single hand.

Family complications before my arrival on the scene created chaos, a chaos which reverberates, and causes that peculiar familial uncomfortability, in which we know we share the same blood but have no real relationship.

Then again, I’m more shy in expectation then in reality. The switch to my personality goes on, and all is well. Sitting here, in my mountain cell, I feel the expectation growing. All there is to do is what I can, prepare my thoughts, gather my notes, seek to work out clearly how my mind is working as regards to this proposed project, and go tonight, knowing that nothing can be lost, and much can be gained.

But, all is in God’s hands, either blessing or nothing. Either way, today marks the beginning of a new step. It is the direction which, until tomorrow, remains in the shadows.