JackPot

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda … played the lottery this morning .

I awoke and glanced at my digital clock. What did it read ? … 333 , as if to suggest that they should be the numbers to play, were that I a gambler.

I did briefly indulge the moment. What were the chances that I should arise at 333 ? Never mind, I dismissed the matter. There is a reason that long ago I opted out of that probabilities course.

A full moon glowed, illuminating the nighttime sky. I listened intently for a moment. Something was out there, so hopelessly distant as to evade recognition. But, yes, it was out there.

Many don’t realize this, but the nighttime woods are often a killing field. Oh, the battles one hears, not to suggest that many of the sounds are identifiable. Sometimes the noises yielded by an animal fighting for its dying breathes are, by their nature, not recognizable.

If there are any clueless tree huggers wigged out by reading this, do bear in mind, the phenom here discussed occurs quite naturally.

At at any rate, the wee hours ambled to dawn and I lay abstractedly ‘til daylight beckoned me to push the pen a bit. Thanks for your indulgence. You see, writing is my fixation.

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