The Silence of Snow

The Silence of Snow

Wind spurts fierce thrusts compelling
the snow to drift languidly and
mound into voluptuous landscapes
while evergreen boughs heavy
with snow release great clumps
themselves springing to height.

Lazy clouds of snow drizzle
the landscape. Falling clumps freckling
the grey sky, shifting clouds to
pleasure the insistent sun. Shafts
of light haze through the forest,
firing the snow to silver crystals.

Through the soft and gentle
stillness, the staccato of a hairy,
red-capped woodpecker. Snow
generously comforts a recently-bereaved
copse of elm, maple and poplar,
naked no longer. Trunks grey,
black and brown stippled
gloriously-blinding white.

Dessicated, bright orange bittersweet
fruit cluster along their vines'
chokehold on prickly Hawthornes.
Their haws shy against the
flamboyance of the others.
The creek drifts clear and tinkling
over gathered fall detritus
now heavily banked in snow.

A raven crosses the undecided sky,
its raucous call shredding the silence
swift body a black arrow true to its mark.
Soon, snow-muted silence regains
its imperious reign.

The Last Word

Few among us is capable of reacting
with perfect equanimity when our
considered and rational points of view
are challenged by those interrupting a
conversation to make observations of
their own that turn the conversation in
another direction entirely. Civility does
demand the courtesy of listening but it
does not insist that one respond. On the
other hand if impulse and the conceit of
feeling it required to demonstrate your
understanding of the situation in the
round that response is forthcoming then
you deserve the sniping that follows. In
the event that the third party is having a
very bad day and has turned their cranky
mood in your direction the next salvo
can be more than awkward and puzzling
all the more so when rank is pulled
through the medium of academic 
credentials of which you have none. Yet
you respond as civilly as possible only
to receive yet another snippy comment
far more deserving of terminating the
conversation carried out on line. And
then you sit back awaiting what can only
be another wretched accusation veiled
in scholarly comment, planning this time
to use wit and condescension that would
devastate your interlocutor. You wait.
And you await that opportunity. But it
fails to arrive and opportunity is lost.

The Story of This Day

As a short story I don't intend to make it
too long in the telling, it's just the way
things worked out, one after another when
my husband went out to run a few errands
and I decided it was time finally to use
that nice beef roast so long frozen as we'd
focused on non-meat dishes, so this would
be a change. Since I had half a head of savoy
cabbage waiting to be used I made cole slaw
as an accompaniment, and then I recalled
that oven-crisped potato recipe I'd seen in last
week's 'living' newspaper section so I'd do
that too. How about baked apples stuffed
with raisins for dessert? And a shredded apple
with those carrots in that cole slaw. What 
might complement apples, my next thought
and remembered I'd meant to bake a batch
of cookies and why not fragrantly crisp-
and-hot gingerbread snaps? Then I stopped
to wonder what was taking him so long
our little dogs were getting restless for a
nice long walk, and in he stepped, sniffing
the air and remarking how good it smells
in this house. Oh he'd stopped in at Friends
of the Library and bought me three good-
reading books. And he's stopped in at the
second-hand shop and bought two warm
and woolly sweaters for me. Off we went
finally into a blustery overcast day to
tramp the forest trails with our puppies.

 

The Wisdom of Emotion

Bear with me, I'm doing my best...
You wouldn't be gaming nature...?
That life force that knows best how
its creatures will develop, we think.
You suffer because humankind is
gregarious and acceptance is vital to
the satisfaction of life with companions
and to be shunned and mocked runs
counter to the kind of emotional needs
we all wish fulfilled. Please understand
I am happy for you that dark thoughts
of self-harm no longer cloud your
future. Public health dollars so much
in demand to stem the tide of so
many human ills are no doubt well
spent in expanding care and comfort
with your dilemma allowing you to
become 'yourself', no longer male, a
condition of your birth that had never
you say, suited the inner you. Having
always considered yourself female
however, I am struggling with the 
fact that you fathered two children
and now that you have transitioned
those children have a 'mamma' and a
'mother'. Is this all perfectly rational?
Ah, but then, who ever claimed we
humans have ever been rational?

Nonnina She Is

Is it nuance, or is it subtlety of a 
variety too sophisticated for a simple
mind to digest? She is the beloved
family matriarch whom all hold in
deep regard, respecting her every
word, and yet there is a chasm deep
within of progressive resistance
battling it out with a visceral draw
of an ancient antipathy stirred by a
renascent social climate dredging up
closets-full of stealth skeletons that
civility stifles. She birthed no fewer
than six children, the oldest a boy
the rest girls in succeeding years all
when she was young and attractive
priding herself on maternal skills and
doting on them all. All were like
herself fecund resulting in numerous
grandchildren themselves now raising
their own. Her husbands long gone
she is alone while surrounded with
family, sons-in-law not of the faith
yet she, the beloved Jewish bubbe
whom all refer to as 'nonna' though
none among them bear Italian blood.

Lightening Up

They burden the world with their tedious
presence and with a litany of faults so 
numerous they are inexhaustible, far too 
many to count and in their aggregate account 
for the disdain in which they are held and 
always have been, for who among the world's 
inhabitants wishes to live among people so 
cunning and forever scheming that there can 
be no peace, no rest from concerns that the
world may soon succumb to the plots they 
conceive and strive to achieve to the known
detriment of all others. Yet the most irritating
aspect of having them live alongside others 
is habitual whining of being discriminated 
against as though their manner doesn't invite 
just that very thing. For they have no sense of
humour, none whatever, and among their
many other faults is their unforgiving sour
sense of entitlement that slights never come
their way, even when those they accuse of 
the age-old bugbear of anti-Semitism inform
them that the messages they take to be racist
are merely attempts at humour and they really
should you know, make an effort to lighten up.

Thy Brother's Keeper

They are everywhere, in impoverished
countries whose cities strain with mass
humanity and in countries of the wealthy
developed world where technology and
industry has created immense wealth yet
they roam the streets, eat in the streets
sleep on the streets, under highway bridges
and passes, fall in love, become violent 
with one another and bystanders alike
peddle and use drugs and die in the streets
the growing army of the homeless, named 
by polite society, the 'unhoused'. Transient
lives of gross humanity whom misfortune
has led astray and whom the settled and 
the fortunate regard with empathy until
they approach too intimately and suddenly
appear threatening, though some can be
since they suffer from mental illness and
who can predict when that psychosis will
spark into rage and claim a hapless victim?
They become the enemy of good order
their misfortunes failing to excite the
sympathy their conditions demand when
funding and good intentions fail to serve
their needs and relieve society of their
oppressive, guilt-inducing, angry presence.

The Unwanted Gift

Merry Christmas, the veterinarian
surgeon said sincerely, after
explaining post-operative
complications placing our
cherished little companion on
life support. Distracted, harried,
he doubtless meant well. Who
after all would wish to face
the disturbing vision of small 
and large animals in mortal
distress, requiring immediate
surgery from conditions seeming
to appear out of nowhere on
that date, necessitating the
nuisance of emergency surgery?
Nowhere, after all, but dire
health threats arising from an
inevitable combination of old age
and genetic inheritance. And dogs
are not, after all, human now, are
they? So get upset if you must at
the loss of a trusting and loving
companion, but do restrain yourself
and keep things in perspective
now, won't you, my friend?
In this unfortunate instance it
seems the operation was a total
success, its outcome, however not.

Human Civility

This is a giant warehouse of a supermarket
not at all to our choice of weekly shopping
expeditions. Huge, its focus on comestibles
but fashioning itself as a purveyor of all
types of goods, not merely edible perishables
but kitchenware, clothing, toiletries and
bedding linens. Its inventory huge and
distracting from the need to shop for the
pantry. For us, hard goods need not apply and
we tend to avoid such places, but yet find
ourselves in one such emporium despite
the principle of adversity to marketing ploys.
We are there, seeking out a simple target of
a sole whole food product, surrounded by
humanity careless of their expenditures and
offerings excessive to any living body's
nutritional health needs, no one observing
the presence of others, no faces turned toward
other faces, no eyes meeting, no tongues
exchanging as though everyone lives in a
discrete world of their own. As we wait to
be checked out my husband remarks on the
paucity of cashiers to handle the volume of
trade and a woman directly in front turns and
with some heat adds to his observation from
her own experience. When she soon attempts
to shrug into her winter coat and cannot a
hand reaches out to guide her into the sleeves
and my pride in his courtesy knows no bounds.

That Heirloom Trait

It is the signal element in human relations
that never dies; it holds a timeless place in 
humanity's lexicon of mass instinctual reaction. 
It may not be embedded in DNA but it is
nonetheless deeply rooted in historical
antecedents, a quality embellished and 
carefully handed down from parent to child
its inherent belief so stringently upheld no
mere relic but a living testament to that
undying kernel of hatred toward a singular
group whom a higher power is said to have
informed their status is that of the Chosen
but chosen for what purpose? Ah, to suffer
and grieve, to achieve and to reel back in
despair as the weight of the world's malice
unerringly identifies them as objects of
scorn and hatred whose presence in the
world is an affront to faith and decency
based on the conspiracies the ancient people
concoct as they wend circuitous routes to
power and influence, wealth and control.
The collective need to stifle such ambitions
gives rise to inhumanly-inspired campaigns
plotted to destroy the illusion they are human 
since their destiny is to struggle and overcome 
obstacles to their own agency, interrupted 
now and then by hugely successful genocidal 
campaigns yet they persevere and grind on
sharpen resolve and face their persecutors' 
intent to stem the tide of Judaic presence. 


 

Denizens of ScrubLand

Mere moments before the blinding orb
of the sun, brilliant and immense in
appearance as it began its night shift
sinking below the horizon, casting a 
broad shimmering pink band across the 
landscape as dusk entered was suddenly
gone. The night sky so recently vacated 
of dark clouds crowding the heavens 
was transformed into soft blue velvet. 
And onto that winter nightscape was 
imposed a scattering of silhouetted
wide-winged birds their black outlines
barely visible against dark blue velvet
with numbers steadily increasing as an
ever-increasing horde maintained their
momentum to create in that moment of
drama a murder of crows crowding the
sky, silently stippling the ceiling of the
world with their destination-focused 
flight from a remote urban wasteland of 
warehoused goods to a nearby forest of 
wasted scrub characterized by twisted
and gnarled deciduous bush whose
growth had long been compromised by its
unfortunate position in a city's hinterland.

Naughty And Nice

Naughty And Nice

She is young and vivacious
though as a mother of two
young adults, not that young
in fact. Yet so much in life
is so obviously relative and to
the grey-haired woman beside
her, the pretty, charming
woman was young and
gregariously extroverted,
so much so that their brief
companionable proximity
serendipitously served in
its warmth to gift the elderly
woman with the sweet illusion
of herself, renewed in youth.
Fittingly, or not, the younger
woman wore casual exercise
pants and as the two ambled
side by side in the woods, the
legend, coyly, perkily appearing
on her derriere read, "Naughty".
Delighting her companion no end.