Misty

 

When I was a child, probably about seven years old, my family  acquired a cat named Misty. She was beautiful, sleek, short haired, gray with white paws, and I loved her with my whole heart.

She came to us as a kitten and over the years, brought several litters of her own into the world. This was during the 70s when cats were allowed to roam at will, and she apparently had several suitors. These tiny babies armed with sharp teeth, needle claws and heart-rending mews had us all wrapped around their tiny little paws. My sisters, brother and I wanted to keep each kitten from each litter and mourned them when they left for other homes.

Misty was a prolific hunter. We’d see her stalk across the yard in pursuit of a rabbit or mole or chipmunk. She’d sometimes surprise us with trophies from her conquests, like a chipmunk head or finch corpse on the back doorstep.

As much as she liked to be outside, when she wanted in, she wanted in immediately. There were times when she climbed the screen on my bedroom window demanding admittance. If I didn’t see her right away, she began yowling, all the while glaring at me.

Eventually Misty exhausted her nine lives and left us for kitty heaven. I like to imagine her there, reunited with all her babies, and hunting to her heart’s content.

Exercise

Edwina exercised her right not to exercise. She leaned against the wall, a sour look on her face.

The noise in the gym was deafening. Grunts and shouts echoed and caromed from the wide walls and high ceiling. The pervasive smell of sweat and desperation made her faintly squeamish.

Edwina slipped the cell phone from her pocket and checked to see if she had any messages. None. At least none that got through the dense walls of this particular nightmare. She would love nothing better than to walk out the door and head home, but she had promised Margie that she’d have lunch with her later. It wouldn’t be feasible to go home and then come back, so she’d just have to wait.

Her mind wandered to the first time she had beheld this room. At first she thought group exercise would be fun. Maybe she’d make some new friends. But, it just wasn’t for her. She was more of an intellectual than a jock. A book could keep her happy for hours.

A shrill whistle pulled her back to the present. “Edwina, over here,” shouted a tall man in short shorts. She sighed and walked toward him, sneaker-clad feet dragging and squeaking as she went. Maybe gym class would be better in first grade.

 

Go Fly A Kite

Every Easter my siblings and I would receive kites from the Easter Bunny. First thing after dinner we would head to the park four blocks away to assemble and fly them. It was a great park for kites, open with few trees on which to snag the string.

This Easter I treated myself to a new kite, higher quality than the flimsy plastic K-mart kites of my youth. I assembled it over a few days’ time, careful and meticulous with the wingtip nock, standoffs, spars and tail. The tail could make or break the kite’s ability to soar and twirl and dip.

Yesterday I drove to the park of my youth, only to find that it now contained an aquatic center, skate park, soccer fields and baseball fields with nary enough space to gain the speed needed for launch.

I got back in the car, my kite placed carefully on the back seat and drove to find a suitable space. None of the parks would do, but I did find a lovely unplanted field. I didn’t see anyone around and since I would do no harm by merely running across the field and watching my glorious kite lift into the semi cloudy sky on the ample breeze, I figured the owner of the field wouldn’t mind.

I held the spool of string in one hand and my kite in the other. I ran into the wind until I felt a tug on the kite and let it go, moving both hands to the string. I watched the kite soar as I fed the string out. It lifted higher and higher, soon becoming nothing more than a speck in the sky.

I must say I was shocked when the kite seemed to develop a power of its own, or maybe it optimized its hold on the growing wind. The string was fully played out but securely tied to the spool which I gripped tightly in both hands. I was lifted off the ground and raised to the heavens, following the kite across the field and further into the countryside, feet skimming tree tops. Below I saw a patchwork of fields with tiny houses and barns. Cows were slow moving dots on the landscape.

What an amazing experience! I guess at some point, I’ll have to figure out how to get down, but for the moment, I was flying and living my wildest dream.

Soothing

 

Soothing is…

 

A cool hand to my warm brow.

Hugs when my mood flags.

An understanding nod during

times of confusion.

 

Encouragement in the face

of disappointment.

Love and compassion during

times of hatred.

 

Ground when I become a ball of

misfiring electricity wound

round and round by circumstances

beyond my control.

 

A tender kiss upon my forehead

at the end of a hard day.

Orange and pink on the eastern horizon

at the start of a new day.

freedom

 hope followed me upstairs

from the dead dark bottom of

the house

 

days      hours     weeks     months

without sunlight

moldering in standing water

yet thirsty

 

so thirsty

for something better

until I pulled open the door

at the base of the stairs

 

was it ever locked

 

no

 

this prison was only in

my imagination

 

so much wasted time

yearning for the smell

of fresh cut grass

craving a friendly smile

listening for the sound

of wind chimes touched

by a light breeze

 

it was here all here all along

 

freedom

In the Dark

 Subconscious shields the waking self.

Secrets trapped in dreams

escape bit by bit.

Images emerge from static;

candlelight and mirrors,

reflections of some truth that

eludes understanding.

Heart pounds as eyes open.

Another day in the dark.

Following the Light

Josie sits in her rocker facing the east window. She gave up trying to sleep in bed, her aching hip and lower back making it impossible, and it was too early to start chores.

So she sits. And rocks. And admires the stars in the dark, vast sky spreading over her snow-covered fields, the same fields that would remain unplowed now that Jesse had left her.

She pricks up her ears. A noise from one of the kids’ rooms upstairs. But it is so early it has to be the wind pushing through a window whose seal had failed years ago.

How many times had she and Jesse sat in this room, facing this window, watching the sky and the land? Too many to count on her arthritic hands. Sometimes, when she forgets he is gone, she catches glimpses of him at the kitchen sink, feeding the chickens, mending a fence, or bent to some other task in the yard.

She shakes her head. No. Not here. Gone forever. The stars twinkle.

She still needs to make lunches for the kids to carry with them to school. Jeanne doesn’t like mayonnaise on her ham sandwich but Benny does. He likes carrot sticks and Jenny prefers an apple. On special occasions they get an oatmeal raisin cookie as a treat.

When Josie was a young girl, her mother always told her to eat what the good Lord provided and to be grateful for it. Didn’t she know there were children starving? It might have been the end of the Great Depression, but the lessons learned during that lean time stayed with her.

 A chirp from her portable phone ends Josie’s reverie. Jeanne sent it to her for Christmas last year. Josie doesn’t understand how to work the darned thing so it stays plugged in and untouched on the kitchen counter, a paper weight for the stack of bills that she can no longer be bothered to pay. She prefers to stick with the phone wired to the mustard yellow living room wall. The lines go down from time to time and even when a call can squeeze through it is rife with so much static that it might as well be coming from Mars, but she knows how to operate it and it is good enough for her.

A small ball of distant white light speeding from the heavens toward the horizon captures Josie’s attention. Maybe there is a meteor shower?

When she and Jesse first married, they stood in their north field watching the Lyrids, their young faces pinked with cold and raised to the sky, as though it were a fireworks display just for them. They had no idea of what life had in store for them but in that moment, they had the security of each other’s warmth and the beauty of nature. Loneliness, illness and old age couldn’t even be considered on a night that held such mystic beauty.

Another ball of light descends outside Josie’s window, following what seems to be the same path. And another. And another. And another.

She calls to her husband, Jeanne and Benny as she opens the door to investigate, the cold barely registering on her slippered feet and bare hands as she steps out. The field beyond the yard lays unbroken in knee deep snow. She walks on, following the light.