When bar-hopping and hangovers tormented my youth, I hated the loquat tree. The fragrance of the sweet loquats brought the birds, flocks of birds of many kinds. Just before sunrise outside my bedroom window, the festivities would commence. Their chattering and squawking was worse than Happy Hour at the local pub. I lay there in bed holding the pillow around my aching head cursing the birds and that loquat tree. Today I watched the birds arrive. Disappearing into the safety of the tree, their joyful raucous made me grateful. My drinking days had ended.
November 21st, 2017
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