Maybe Tomorrow

Last night’s snowfall disappeared slowly, struck by the shallow sunshine falling from between the gray cloudy masses sailing slowly above

Swirling cold seeps in the open window bringing a frigid freshness unlike the spring sunshine from yesterday

The stripes mounted on the front porch billow flutter n fly constantly, eventually wrapping the pole only to be unwound and forced to repeat their spinning dance

The cold and the darkening gray and the constant flapping mix with a decades old playlist murmuring in the background, masking its intent

The muted daylight begins to die forcing the sky to shades of blurred gray n muted blackish blues signaling the end of the day which seemingly never really started

Wandering the inside shadows without direction finally reaching the comfort of flannel and quilting and burrowing deep beneath them

Maybe tomorrow will fulfill the hope of a warm bright start followed by hours of accomplishments and successes, maybe tomorrow…

Simple Spring Storm

An urge to step out into the night

Watching lace curtains of crystals fall through the street light

Beginning to wrap the tops of the spider leg branches

Covering the walkway with a wet sheen reflecting the glow

Hiding in the dark void, a comforter of white billows over the ground

Adding scattered starry sparkles that have fallen from above

The thin opening in the front window pulls cool breezes inside

To the accompaniment of an occasional slushy traveler on the street

Not the harshness of winter’s voice and frigid wrap

Just a simple spring storm, led by gentle drops that became crystal wings

Spinning toward the ground beneath the black gray abyss above.

Daylight is Waning

The daylight is waning; the perception of warmth is dying with it

Stalactites seem to hang precariously from the edge of the roof

Their incessant dripping halted for the next few hours of darkness

While the craters in the snow beneath them form crystallized cups

Eager to hold the next day’s catch, liquefied by the sun’s radiance

Snow still covers the ground, now in a dusky yellow-grey color

Mimicking the diluted palate that veils the western edge of the sky

The dark scraggy branches of the trees dissolve into the murkiness above

Soon points of light begin to appear scattered loosely across the heavens

Then filling the void between them countless smaller specks come alive

The night sky glimmers and glitters like snowflakes in the moonlight 

Turning from the front window the flickering candle flames replace the stars

Filling the room with fragrances of pine and cinnamon while whips of smoke dance into the air

Warming the darkening room for a short time…

Run Away

Run away…

Get away, away from an empty house, a house concealing its emptiness behind sparking lights and shiny baubles hung on a counterfeit fir. A place filled with the stagnant melodies proclaiming the joyous season adding to the pretense. A jumbled mess of partially completed projects strewn here and there, corners with cobwebs catching the castoff lint of life – some gratefully hidden behind closed doors. Plaster and brick share the unwanted cold day with the spaces inside, dull gray light seeps in through the windows from outside.

Run away… from the oppressive void that steals the energy of each morning, from the litany of “to do’s” that never seem to get done, from the failures and the errors in judgment. Leave the chill that uncomfortably wracks your body dulling your senses and your mind. From the fear, the lies and falsehoods that everything is alright, the deceptions that you've convinced yourself and others are true. From the exhaustion, the loneliness, the hollowness that makes up every day, every hour, every minute of your depression.

Run away… to see the rising sun from a different perspective, to feel the radiance of a new day, in a new place. Absorb the spontaneous energy from exploring the unknown and savor the small treasures to be found. Abandon the rigidness in favor of impulsiveness, yet spend the daylight wisely. Share the reality of you with those you encounter and relish in their sincere reactions. Give in slowly to the twilight and the mounting darkness; carry the thrill of the day into your dreams.

Run away… only to return… this time…

Leftover Thoughts

Just a couple of leftover thoughts taking up space. Spring is near, thought I'd clear out the wintry words in hopes of replacing them with new, vibrant, colorful and warmer musings... 

One Saturday Morning
Golden colors hanging precariously in the cool morning Rays of light have lost their strength, barely warming the air
The stillness broken by flashes of movement and chatter in the dark limbs above,
A smoky flavor drifts on the nearly still autumn dawn.
Hints of white rest in the early morning shadows
Sheets of translucent crystals wrap the fallen leaves masking their colors
Waiting precariously for the warming shafts of light, they will eventually melt away to reform in the cold night air into new designs and patterns.


Flat dull grey skies have suddenly stolen the morning light, The bright sharpness of a new day blurred into a near monochrome,
The air is cold and uninviting…
Block the muted morning with a nest of warm folds and a soft pillow, try to reclaim your last dream if only for a few more moments…

A band of brilliance cuts its way across the room from a break in the curtains, struggling to light the room and bring in the new day,
The blurred shroud of sleep begins to slip away, replaced too quickly by the day’s agenda
The cat rolls over, protected by the folds of the bedding, hiding from the increasing intensity as you're forced to gradually emerge to meet the morning…


Out the front window...
Just stepped outside for a few minutes to watch the display of snow flakes.. something is so intriguing to me about the way mother nature works. The physics of it all I understand, it is the beauty, the aura, the presence that exists surrounding the event. Sure we can pump water through jets and "make" snow... but not nature's crystals...
Beyond that is the quiet, the solitude that seems to accompany them as if to eliminate any distractions and concentrate your perception, your feelings on the fall of the flakes through the crisp cold air.
Taken in small amounts there are no fears, increase the velocity of the wind, the volume of the crystals, the colder temperatures and the power emerges causing some to panic...
Yet I could stand in the onslaught and be simply over whelmed by the power - not fear it but begin to realize how dynamic, how important the event and how miniscule, how small a part I have in the scheme of things... 

Just a thought seeping out

Old stuff, Com 101

        I was rummaging through some stuff from my college days at CSC, Colorado State College and came upon my spiral from freshman communications class – COM 101. You remember the one, they made you write different types of essays to develop your communication skills? After glancing over a few less than stellar assignments I realized I really could’ve used spell and grammar check and probably turned a few of the B’s into A’s… to quote the instructor “watch for misplaced modifiers, coordinate adjectives (?), sentence fragments and common errors – they distract from the overall coherence.” What the hell is a coordinate adjective? I still don't know!

        Anyway, for those of you that have read my more recent attempts at written communication you might recognize the style that was revealed back in 1968. I believe this was an assignment to write a “Description”. Hmmm kinda open ended… This was titled “Description (?)”, and if you spent any time on the campus in Greeley you probably know exactly where it takes place.

                The trees stretch toward the grey, menacing sky; their bare branches seem to grab at the hazy afternoon ceiling. The pillars of living wood form like sentinels along the broken cement walk. From the corner you pass through a corridor of elm and oak while the shaggy rug of wintered grass lines the tipsy squares of cement. Now and then the clatter of scattered gravel opens the cold silence and seems to echo from behind each tree. A few paces down the walk and you might catch a glimpse of a squirrel searching the joints of each branch for an afternoon snack. But he sees you move and shoots up to the highest branch of the tree, disappearing much like the afternoon breeze.

                It’s time you stopped and took in all that the wooded lawn has to offer. A few brisk steps through the leaf scattered mat of grasses and you’ll find a spot to sit and lean back against one of those magnificent wooden columns. As you put your weight down a small, cold chill creeps up your back as if you’ve been caught up in the webbing of a spiders home. At first the knotty bark needles its way through your coat and into your back. But with a few small adjustments the knots are comfortably placed and a new warmth overwhelms the coolness of the ground beneath you. Taking time to look about, that grayish tail with feet suddenly bounds from a tree just opposite yours. Try as you will to stay quiet and motionless he soon spots your position and is off again, up among the spindly, blackened branches of an immense elm. Losing him among the joints and jogs of the wooden net your eyes catch the sun as it sneaks through the billowy sky. The grayish afternoon crawls away while the tide of powdery blue and warming sky redecorates the day. A chatter from the squirrel announces his joy as a warm breeze pushes the leaves up from their resting places to crash and tumble across the lawn.

                But still there is a cold loneliness surrounding you. It’s not the lack of beauty or the cold that’s finally disappearing; it puzzles you to think what could be wrong now, with the sun high amongst the vacant robins’ nests. Finally it happens; you’re joined by a couple strolling down a worn pathway. They seem to fill the whole colonnade of trees and ruddy grass rugs with something clean, fresh and bright. Though they passed by in a moment, lost in their own world, their brightness was shared by all. Even the wiry squirrel came down from his mountainous perch, fearlessly beckoning to you. But with his chattering the cold haze resumes, covering the sun as the evening grows near. So you pick yourself up and briskly stroll back along the crumbling cement walkway, you will remember this place, this day, it was good to you.

Winter Day Outside

It’s a truly winter day out the front window.
The afternoon air is frigid, the landscape lifeless and uninviting. The sky above is covered by a dull grey layer without even a hint of the sun. Off in the distance small scraps of washed out blue teasingly rest along the horizon.

Abruptly the wind intensifies and the marbled grey sky turns darker, heavier and ominous. Quickly hordes of primal crystals fill the air, stampeded along by the frozen air currents. The nearly blinding mass is made of small, agile, pellet like flakes that rush their way to the ground. Spun and jumbled, scattered seemingly without purpose they quickly cover the freezing earth.

Menacingly the storm builds, forcing a feeling of gloom and forewarning. Now the air is filled with the small hardened shapes dancing in all directions. The arrogant squall of winter weather eventually marches on, leaving its remnants behind as a display of its dominance.

No gentle fall of fluffy crystals, no hope of gathering handfuls for play, no brilliant sunshine in its wake. Just the raw cold power of a bleak and forbidding nature, leaving an inhospitable and desolate feeling behind.

Turn from the window with a shudder in search of warmth and security, surely the sun will shine tomorrow?!?

Embroidered Crystals

Embroidered crystals pin wheeling their way through the cold night air

Lit by the glow of the street lamp

Eventually finding their way to a resting place

To lie down delicately as their structures entwine forming a blanket of dull white

Then suddenly reflecting the dim light in sharp flecks of icy sparkles

Stepping out beyond the front window to sense their grandeur

Frigid air grabs at your every breath and exposed flesh

But it pales in the presence of the fragile flakes covering the world around you

Hordes of elusive specks blurred by the wind swirl to their destinations

Some to remain to see morning’s light

Others to be gathered up again by the invisible currents and sent sailing away

What grand mechanism, what scheme, what power is responsible?

Humbling to realize the mastery it would take to create this wonder

Each small piece different yet alike in many ways

All fitting into a grand design, a precarious display of strength and invention

Never to be claimed, never to be duplicated, never to be accomplished by man

Embroidered crystals pin wheeling their way through the cold night air….

A cold December walk

Slipping out the front door into the frigid night. Subzero air engulfs me immediately, the cold crisp air against my skin is exhilarating.

The first step onto the blanket of white crystals is announced by a seemingly deafening crunch. It continues throughout my journey along unkempt sidewalks. Suspended only when I stop to survey the small foot prints that cross my path. 

I trace the circular path through the spiky bare branches of dormant shrubs along the walkway then bounding off into the shadows between the darkened houses. 

The trek takes me beneath the bare spider like branches that not so long ago held vibrant greens that shaded the path. Only the sound of my steps break the stillness of the night, the orange-pink blended glow of street lights and flickering holiday strands radiating from porches light the way. 

Giving in to nature’s grip I accelerate from a leisurely stroll, the cold reaching deeper inside. I retrace my path, spotting the feathery tail of a young fox as it disappears into the dark along the way. 

Finally stepping inside the doorway to the musty warmth of home, glad for the comfort but struggling to hold the feelings and visions of nature’s ominous presence.