days soften
sun sets earlier
blossoms become seeds
The clock in the living room chimes nine, and I am still in bed. Highly unusual.
The morning sun warms my bedroom through the still closed curtains,
yet I continue to lay here, considering my mistakes...
·
Thinking I could wear a slinky dress at age 55.
I imagined myself looking sexy but when I caught a glimpse in the mirror, I
simply resembled a boa constrictor that had swallowed a writhing prize-winning
pig.
·
Buying an e-bike and trying to transport it to
the trailhead on the back of my 2010 Honda Fit. The weight of the bike damaged
the frame of the car and now the car tires scrape the undercarriage.
·
Buying a large bag of Brussel sprouts at the
farmer’s market without knowing how to prepare them - and throwing them in the
trash before leaving home for a long weekend. Neighbors called the police
thinking the smell was from a decomposing body or a septic leak in my
apartment. I can still smell them on humid days.
·
Trusting Kevin. That is my biggest regret of
them all.
I met Kevin during an online gaming competition. We were
opponents and my team won the tournament trophy along with the hefty cash
prize. He later messaged me through the tourni forum with congratulations and
said he admired my skills. We chatted back and forth for a couple of weeks before
he suggested we meet in the real world. I said yes. We exchanged photos and
agreed to meet at a diner near my apartment at 6:00 the following evening.
Getting ready for my date with Kevin, I was nervous. What to
wear? Well, I knew I wouldn’t be wearing a slinky dress. I settled for a nice shirt
and khakis, my usual kind of outfit. I curled my hair, dabbed some foundation
on my face and dotted my cheeks with rouge. Ready.
He was already seated when I arrived and waved me to his
booth. He stood as I approached and kissed my cheek before we slid in on
opposite sides. He was pale, but nice looking with neatly trimmed hair. He wore
a polo and khakis, similar to me. We had such a nice time eating our burgers
and chatting, comparing notes about different games we enjoyed. At one point,
we both reached for the ketchup at the same time, and our hands touched. It was
electric. He let me use the condiment first.
It was almost 8:00pm when our waitress gave us the bill and
a pointed look that indicated she wanted us to cash out and skedaddle. I
suggested we continue our conversation at my apartment, and Kevin agreed.
We strolled the two blocks through the late summer twilight.
He held my hand. I thought we might have something special. Something real.
I invited Kevin to have a seat on the sofa in my little
living room and asked if he’d like a glass of wine. I had most of a box of rosé
in the refrigerator. He said that sounded good. So I poured two glasses. We
talked more about work and gaming and life. I excused myself to use the
bathroom and when I came back, Kevin had poured us each another glass of wine.
Mine tasted a little funny, but I’m not a big drinker, so didn’t think much
about it. Until I got woozy.
Now, lying in bed in the middle of the morning, head
pounding, I’m sure Kevin drugged me. And left me, still wearing my nice shirt
and khakis, tied to my bed. I see that my tournament trophy is missing, and my
purse has been dumped out on my dresser so I’m guessing he also stole my cash
along with my credit cards. I wonder if he took the rest of the rosé?
Will anyone come looking for me? If they don’t, I hope I
won’t smell like rotting Brussel sprouts.
Breeze ripples across the river,
angels wings dipping low
before lifting off to shimmer
aspen leaves on shore.
Smiles reach our faces. We are
refreshed in body and soul
in this grace-filled place
surrounded by the natural
and the sublime.
Water drips from the ceiling, echoing through the rock chamber. I shift in the dark crevice that contains my body. The smell of an ancient river rushing below the rock reminds me that some forces never die even though they may remain unseen for lifetimes.
There's been no light since the candle burned out last Tuesday. No food since the Saturday before that. It's hard to track the passage of days without sunlight or moon's shine but I think today is Thursday.
I reach for the candle stub, wick long extinguished, and bring it to my mouth. Drops of precious water tip onto my tongue. Teeth tease a tiny bit of wax into my mouth. I swallow. At least it will be something in my stomach.
I'm glad the villagers left me that much before abandoning me to my rocky tomb and consigning me to full dark, a sacrifice for their collective protection.
Footfalls shuffle outside the cave door. Light bursts upon me and I rise, lifted from the cold, hard floor, up, up, above the ground, vision restored and senses clearing, knowing what I will do next.
And fire rains down.
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.
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.
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 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.
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
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.
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.
