Wednesday Guy

It was Wednesday evening and I was stopped beside the trail, you know, just in case some other rider should come along and want to get past. I was considering a flock of birds flying away to the north-east, although their erratic flight pattern made it difficult to determine if they were headed more north or more east. (In fact I couldn't be sure that they might not swing completely around and come back toward me.) I was also singing these here lyrics, the only lines I could recall from the song and, well, the only ones that mattered at the moment:

"I'm not a weekend guy

I'll make my party on a Wednesday night

I look around to see the coast is clear

before I step into the light..."

 (Freund and Dennen)

"That's something, ain't it?" Coyote caught me by surprise again and, though I tried to hide it, i'm sure he noticed my startled jump at the closeness of his words. I wasn't sure if he was commenting on my singing or the birds, but when I turned toward his voice I noticed him looking up at the sky as well. "Fascinating, the way they can do that, huh?" Coyote was right, it was fascinating. You've probably seen video clips of those great swaths of birds (usually starlings, I think) whirling and twirling across the sky; looking like black clouds continually reforming themselves as they change directions, spread apart and coalesce again, shape shifting by the second. This grouping was smaller than most seen in any of those clips, but it is not so common a sight around here and the effect was mesmerizing. 

"Here it is only Wednesday, but it sure looks as it they are having one heckufa righteous party up there."

Ah, so you heard me singing, I take it?

"Hard to miss that... that... singing? My friend, you couldn't carry a note in a bucket."

I let the critique slide, mostly because he was right, and I couldn't argue the point any other way. Once I got back to finishing up the ride I made another stop, this time along a little bit of trail, covered in Coyote tracks; someone else seems to have quite a Wednesday party on this here trail, I thought while surveying the covering of paw prints pressed into the soft earth. Wednesday, Saturday, or any other day, it doesn't really matter. Any day is a potential party when it is a riding day.