Companions

Companions

Twice daily they pass by:
the scruffy-bearded man with a slouch hat,
and his little dog Fritz, 
who yaps at the stray cat.

Arthritis embers smolder
in both knees and one shoulder.
The old man's stiff walk
is a badge he wears,
for daring to grow older.

Fritz the dog, 
the man's closest friend for years,
wears a tiny, red coat
and a tiny, yarn hat 
with holes knitted in, 
to make room for his ears.

In all but the worst of weather,
they make their way down the street.
The man shuffles and lingers,
the dog stays close,
just to the right of the man's feet.

Each, without the other, would be alone:
the little dog with no one to toss him a bone;
the old man with no pet to settle in his lap.
Together, they retreat from the world,
to catch an afternoon nap.

Twice daily they pass by:
the scruffy-bearded man with a slouch hat,
and his little dog Fritz, 
who yaps at the stray cat.

Tantrum

Tantrum

Winter is NOT an old man.

He is a toddler 
who stomps around in a bitter mood.

He is a three-year-old throwing a tantrum

after being scolded for misbehaving.

He pitches balls of frigid air that slap faces

and leave cheeks red and stinging.

His fists flail in revolt.

We dodge his repeated blows.

His feet kick up piles of snow

making a mess everywhere.

When you want him to move along,

he flings himself to the ground,

howling and refusing to budge,

as snow swirls about 
and piles up around him.

Winter Waiting

Winter Waiting

Chilled, brisk air 

chases him down the sidewalk 

and follows behind him 

through the door.

He shuts it out quickly.

He shakes bits of snow from his coat

which melt into little puddles 

upon hitting the floor.

He smells chili 

simmering on the stove

and the homemade bread she's baking.

Her welcoming hug and smile

makes him grateful

for a quiet evening at home

 in the making.

Wrapped in an afghan,

watching the flickering fire,

and drinking tea,

they spend their time

reading books, laughing, 

listening to music,

watching TV. 

It's the time of winter waiting.

Waiting for the snow to start.

Waiting for the snow to stop.

Waiting for the snow to melt.

It's the time of winter waiting.

Waiting for the soup to boil.

Waiting for the bread to bake.

Waiting for the new year.

Waiting to see... what cards will be dealt.

The young at heart 

wait for Christmas,

wondering what Santa will bring.

Older folks with aching bones

work jigsaw puzzles 

and wait for spring.

Prepared

Prepared

So the pressure is on. 

It's time to make the Thanksgiving meal.

It must be festive, traditional,

delicious, ideal.

The groceries must be bought.

Recipes gathered up.

The table properly set,

with each plate and cup.

But what if the turkey

refuses to thaw?

What if the oven breaks,

and that bird is still raw?

The stuffing is soggy.

The gravy gets spilled.

The potatoes are lumpy.

No plates are filled.

Take a deep breath

and say a prayer.

Be thankful for blessings;

and for family gathered there.

And when you realize

just how lucky you are,

you'll see it  doesn't matter

if dinner is below par.

Call up the pizza shop

on speed dial,

and dinner will arrive

in a little while.

Don't worry about the food.

Don't stand on ceremony.

Rejoice in your blessings,

and make room for pepperoni!

Even though, at first, 

it can be hard to see.

Remember, remember,

there's always plan B.

*   *  *   *  *

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Flamboyant

Flamboyant

Fall is the time when the trees become

like your eccentric Great-Aunt Irene.

One day: conservative, quiet, sedate,

dressed in a dignified, dark green.

The next: crazy, wild, inhibitions gone,

parading around, making a scene.

Flamboyant in yellow, orange, and red.

Life's too short to always wear green.

I'll Be Back!

Hello readers. I have been selected for jury duty for the next two months. This experience is going to require a great deal of time. As a result, I am taking a temporary blog break. I hope you will come back again when I return in November.

We Are All Miracles

We Are All Miracles

Bits of buttery, pale yellow pollen

powder the inside of a pink lily.

Few will even notice 
except, perhaps, the bees and me.

God stirs up a sunset with his own recipe.

Ingredients?...He uses only three!

Air, sunlight, and wisps of clouds

become pink and blue swirling art

displayed in the sky for everyone to see.

We are nothing but insignificant grains of sand

on an infinite beach next to the infinite sea.

Why were we deemed necessary

in this grand scheme of things?

Why were we chosen to live, to love,

to breathe, and to be?

I'm not sure why, but for whatever reason, 

we are part of the plan.

Our lives intertwine with each creature, each flower, each tree.

We are all miracles made up of music, color, and mystery.

We are magic, math, beauty, and symmetry.

We are all miracles.