Timing at 4 A.M.


freelanceblogwriter I’m not so sure if this is the right thing to write about? I’m not even sure, I even know what the hell I’m writing or blogging about at four o’clock in the morning, when the chill factor is starting to play the Donald Rumsfield game of “cat and mouse,” as it clear was as a present danger, it was just a matter of hours ago, the stars shining as brightly as they could from the dense darkness of space.

When I was young as a kid, life was full of dreams – big dreams. But, now as an adult, those dreams that I once had as a kid never sprung out the welcome mat – some how they’re still hiding away in the closet I sit at the dinning room table for the first time in five years on a crisp fall October morning, blogging in a place and space I never pen to the ghouls of blog writing – “the dining room table.”

Mysteries are abound as it sits almost spotless from years of mementos left behind by my late Grandmother nearly three years earlier.

It feels a little strange, as it can be sitting in one’s own living room at the dining room table hacking away at the keyboard of my laptop and writing a blog in the mist of a crisp fall morning as the top of the hour reach the high noon and the landscapers work their slavery to the buck an hour to keep the elegance of a fine looking castle fit for a King – “Fiesta” has it is said from the memories of my family’s Mexican heritage, the writing, the beats of the trumpets and the creative word of being a writer and blogger becomes the habit of keep one’s mind fresh with content that is worth penning at 4 a.m. in one’s flannel flaks of flannel jammies and crisp breeze of fall air drifting through the openness of one’s doors to his castle.

Perhaps, this is just the beginning of another chapter? We shall see what the next two weeks give in the mist of one’s flamboyant tyrant of doodle the throttle of the General Lee – if it were Hazzard County, Boss Hogg would be in a fit to see the General Lee peeling tons of rubber to its newly painted and stripped streets among the neighborhoods of the western flanks of the Pacific Northwest.

Only a Duke knows how to man his castle to the rights of perfection.

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