Jungle Heat (A new novel by)

As I continue my "ramble" through retirement, tring new adventures, a novel seems possible...here are the opening lines.

The sweltering heat hung over the airport like a wet blanket. Heat waves shimmered off the runway, giving the jungle on the other side a surrealist image of trees melting into the ground.

He stood on the ramp next to the old dilapidated hangar, the popping of the tin roof, from expansion caused by the noon day sun, the only sound interrupting the silence. He wondered how he had sunken so low to have this desolate end of the world assignment as his only flying job.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Steve Wright had certainly not always been “right”, more often “wrong” in his choice of booze, women and jobs. Demon rum had started the downward spiral to this God forsaken airport in the wilds of central Africa.

Steve’s mind drifted back to a time when all seemed like his life was charmed, he had a beautiful wife, a great job flying for an airline and his reputation as a pilot was spotless. He was known for his prowess and called “Stick”. “Steve’s the best stick we have” they would say, alluding to the yoke that controls the pitch and roll of the aircraft and reverts back to the days when airplanes had a “stick” between the pilot’s legs to control flight.

To fly with Steve was almost poetry, a soft touch on each control deftly moving the control for the desired effect. From take-off to landing his flights soared, as if on eagles’ wings, through the sky.

Circadian Rhythm

Circadian rhythm isn’t a cacophonous chorus of crickets but our bodies program to be in its deepest sleep between 3:00 and 5:00 AM. I am a good sleeper, usually “soundly” sleeping during those hours. However...not this morning. Maybe it was the time change this morning (“spring ahead”) or the fact I’ve been on the road for over a week...whatever the reason, there I was at 5:00 AM awake.

Looking at the clock I took comfort knowing that I had more sleep allowed and would enjoy the time. That was not to be. First I noticed the quite...no cars driving by, no planes flying over, no lawn mowers or any of the myriad of the noises in our lives. Just quite!

The city was asleep on this Sunday morning and I wasn’t. After marveling over the quiet and the image of most of the city asleep (good guys and bad guys) I decided to get up, make coffee and read the paper...someone had been awake because there it lay on the walk, ready to be read.

The paper quickly dispelled the notion of quite...the world hadn’t been asleep, to the contrary, even on a Sunday, the world was about its calamitous ways, both natural and manmade. I turned on the TV and there “spanning the globe” newsreel coverage of the worlds noises.

A new day had begun...earlier than normal and soon the sun rose and brought with it life’s noises.

I may need a nap this afternoon.

Ahhhh the endless cycle of yard work!

TREES: We bought our house because of the trees and the shade...then cuss them every fall for all the leaves they deposit...especially our huge Mexican Sycamore, which has been around for a while...it’s huge!

The sycamore has plate size leaves that are as hard as plastic. I’ve raked them (difficult if not nearly impossible) and I’ve mowed (mulched) them (sounds like the mower is falling apart from the inside) which is the easier way, although it takes two passes!

GRASS: Another contradiction...we carefully apply pre-emergence, aerate, fertilize, patch bad sod and water until we have a lush green carpet of grass...then complain that we have to mow twice a week to keep it looking good.

The mowing goes on until late fall...then continues when the big waxy leaves start falling off the sycamore...so the cycle continues until the end of January...THEN there is a lull until the warmth of spring wakes up the yard for yet another cycle of yard work.

WEEDS: Now I’ve explained my part of this equation...NOT part of my efforts are the “beds”...defined as home for the myriad of shrubs and flowering plants (annuals and perennials). The beds are the domain of my live-in horticulturist. She too has a love / hate relationship with our yard...not the planting, nurturing and watering of this array of flowering color, BUT the weeds!

I long ago said “I don’t do weeds”. This is not a “cop out” but a matter of survival. You see, over the years, I’ve pulled many a prized planting because it “looked” like a weed. They all eventually flower (even weeds I’m told), however, much of the time they look like weeds (to me!).

So...as the days become longer, the weather warmer and the arrival of robins and cardinals digging for worms (“the early bird gets the worm”...sorry, couldn’t resist the pun) we wait for the cycle to begin again.

“Gentlemen...start your engines”.