Living Life #25 “The Thaw”

I remember my window where I couldn’t see outside. Frost had touched from corner to corner as if ghosts had been peaking in through the night as they passed by.

I remember my breath as it became visible before my face. Sighing was all I could do to get through the daze my mind had fallen into from seeing too many gray days.

I remember my hands rubbed raw red and numb. No matter how I clenched them or how long I kept on the mittens they rarely thawed.

I remember the moment when that all changed.

I look out the window and the sky isn’t gray but bright, ocean blue. As if the sea had somehow floated into the air, and the fish turned to clouds of fluffy white cotton.

I look at the grass where for what seemed like years there had only been slush. I can see the concrete of the street with the sun glinting off and rushing away the memory of the black ice that was once underneath.

And I look at the tulips, just starting to peak up from their perches. Purple, red, orange, and yellow. Colors of a sunrise peaking over the world. I had forgotten in the long days of winter what color looked like. Until now.

Spring has finally come, and now I am awake.

Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash

Living Life #24 “Dame of Dust and Dirt”

It was a room with plenty pretty pink pens, bounties of billowing blue blankets, and a whopping of wrapping woozy wires webbed across the floor. The last time I saw the hardwood underneath was a long and distant time ago. In fact, it was around when last my sanity was also spotless and sanctimonious in space and time…. if I’m remembering correctly. A long and far time ago, indeed.

My fingers tap, tap, tapped against the table testing the threshold of tension and tears at my beck and call. It only made the dirt fly farther into the recesses of my small apartment space in lines of dust mites dancing in the mid morning light.

No. No. No.

I could do this no longer.

Vacuum and mop. A feather duster and cloth. Numbness of mind and too many worries bogging in kind. Pretty pink pens piling into the trash, billowing blue blankets stacked so tall they could crash, and the webbing wires, woozy and wrapped gathered in my hands and to the garbage they dash dash dashed.

Hours and hours, time needing to be lost to be found. The tiny apartment was at last bare and the stormy weather of my mind turned sunny and fair. Cinderella could hold no candle to see, cause I was my own prince and saving me.

When all was tidy and neat, this once princess of mess and disorder could finally sit write, and eat.

Photo by Volha Flaxeco on Unsplash

“The Winter Wolf”

Photo by Neil Rosenstech on Unsplash

Tip toeing
and slowly going
the hunter arrives.

Slow breathing
with fangs teething
quietly the prey lies.

The wood at night
and only the moon’s light
makes for no fun.

Cold nips at their face
tracks left without trace.
Must remember how to run.

For the wind, one ear
the other for anything else near
the wolf shall wait.

The hunter knows no place,
tracking his victims case
by case, guided by fate.

Then, they see each other.
Willed by our Earth mother
in playing this game again.

With each year’s going
the seasons’ sowing
the fight animal and humane.

The wolf growls
and the hunters bows,
hitching the arrow.

The wolf leaps
and the hunter reaps
the last of winter’s sorrow.

Blood on the snow
melts red and slow
So spring will return
once more.