These two questionable birds remind me of cartoon characters us kids watched on black and white television in the 1950’s, most often perched on a tree limb talking about crazy humans. They were, as they appear here, angular, opinionated, and had New York voices that were like a piece of coarse sandpaper rubbed over my cheek, and not gently.
On a little end table in front of the Madrid, New Mexico Mine Shaft Museum, they,for the moment, aren’t gossiping loud enough that we can hear them.
The mining museum is old stuff piled into a large open warehouse, under a tin roof, and, through an open doorway, I see old corroded steel and wood machines that kept the mines operating in the 1800’s when lots of young men and painted women came out west to make their fortunes.
The curator of the museum, a gray haired volunteer standing by the cash register, talks in a mellifluous voice and explains, to an equally old couple listening to her, how the town ran back in its heyday, not so long long ago.
As I peek through the doorway into the museum, I think I hear these two cartoon birds laughing at us again.
For some odd reason, I want to buy the fountain and put it and them on a table on my back porch.
These two could really tell me some funny, but true, stories about ourselves.