River

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.

Rise

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. 

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