FACE

January 07, 2010

Face…mmy FACE; or rather as the way of partner’s of different species seem to go, especially when the in stance dictates the feline world, I’mm FACE’s.

A year after arriving in South Dakota while building mmy home at the time; it wasn’t long before realising that one had to do something about the rodent population that seemed to want to be in the future of inhabiting the premise is including everything within the walls, on the rafters, floors, any whole or airspace.

“Not - a chants,” says I wild noticing the owner beforehand had gadgets of all kinds; D Conn-traps shuns placed around the opened plan of the soon to be livable domicile. Even quicker still I found and answered an ad in the local paper advertising the best remedy. A hunter it said; a mouser even better; and trained; even better still. Although all advertised issues were puzzlers since the ad added the subject in mind was only six weeks old. Where were the ad police? Six weeks?

Never before being in the presence of or even befriending one of this specific species, I simply admit to knowing nothing whatsoever about such things but thought; unless the tiny dot was a quick learner and well before its birth I was quite skeptic cull of not only the hunter title but mostly of the trained won. Who knew? I was about to find out.

Needless to say I was sure one could work with whatever was to come home with mme even if it wasn’t cute. Purrfect miss tresses mattered not; this was an emergence see? Without further a do, making a move post haste towards the door, jumping into the vehicle and heading for the address; I forgot it and had nothing written down to prove other why’s; but that didn’t stop us, Vic the Van ‘n I.

That being a very small town I was sure to be in the right direction when I remembered noticing a landmark mentioned in the ad. Everyone had to pass it if in fact they were locals most of whom did the twice a day gander always sticking to the posted 15 mph. The jump and ride took just two minutes and soon provided the view of the approaching building and the next door residence that supposedly held this miracle birth… and no it was quite warm and definitely not Christmas.

I got out of Vic, headed for what was surmised to be the core wrecked door and knocked. No one answered as I waited patiently for about two minutes while after one of those minutes heard a mothers orders being loudly protested from inside. At this time the correct address was questioned. I knocked again, waited another minute while thinking to leave when a short woman with glasses opened the door, smiled and said, “You’re here to take one of the new one’s, aren’t you?” I said, “Hello, well, that depends if any of ‘The New One’s’ and I have a mew chewal understanding.” She let mme in anyway.

She led mme through a few tornadoed looking rooms and on threw too the kitchen where four little humans were with flailing extremities tampering and scampering around. It appeared that they were already warned someone was to arrive and were trying to coral what looked like a half dozen little grey, black and white fury things. The furries looked as small as what I did not want to see but had the mind to discourage and purr haps to also distinguish in pretty short order if in fact one were scene. I was not wanting to add to the MMicks chore but in fact to subtract was the main reason for this venture.

The little tykes scurried about like they were auditioning for a professional rodeo manager and in need of a bigger than them belt buckle prize. They quickly cornered five of the six tiny fur balls. One was left under a chair sitting quite stationary while staring up at mme. “Ahaaaaaaaaah,” I said while immediately making an I two I connection. This fur ball had decided this is the slave who has come to serve me. Little did I know this is how it goes in the world of felines and humans. At this time of a new discovery and many adventures, I had no clue.

IT didn’t appear scared of anything or anyone and NO one was gonna make it move unless it wanted to. I should have known this was a clue… but didn’t. Remember I’ve never been in this situation before and anything that tiny would be nooooooo problem, right? Well, this is an obvious human flaw when viewing something much smaller than the palm of one’s hand. Original size means nothing when one considers a long growth period.

I walked over to the little tyke, and normally wouldn’t do this but without thinking slowly stuck mmy hand up to its face in the area of its mouth. Fortunately for mme and perhaps thinking of finger food, she began to lick it. That was it. I melted as it made a sound like someone would blow air into a balloon and while letting it out, would squeeze the rubber opening while getting a high pitched squeal from the air being let out. “Awwwwww,” I said,” Isn’t he sweet?”

Unbeknownst to mme, this was clue number two. “She’s not a he, she’s a she,” said the woman of the house. “OOOOOOOh, OK… now I know thanks… are you sure?” ”Yes, I’mm sure,” she said while picking up the little tail to offer mme a look. “No thanks, I’ll take your word for it, “ I softly said while looking away.

After a short minute of watching mme stroking the little creature, the woman kind of impatiently asked while at the same time trying to corner her off shoots of dancing and screaming little ones of her own,” Do you want that one?”

I said, “Sure, she’s beautiful and it looks like she may like mme too. I certainly like her so what’s your price?” Whereupon she looked at mme kind of incredulously and said, “Price? I didn’t have a price in the paper, did I?”A lost opportunity glance was in her I’s.

Smiling I said, “not that I can remember; I left the house while in mmy own tornado, but I wasn’t sure; sometimes those things aren’t mentioned until later; but OK if she’s free, then I’ll take her off your hands.” She looked at mme with a wide smile and I thought that might have been the 3rd clue.

We both headed towards the front door wild stepping over several years of laundry and it looked like more than seven decades of toys for a whole day care corporation; all the while little miss balloon was letting mme know that she was still with mme until we reached the vehicle and continued anyway just because she could. It seemed a little like she may have been calling for help.

I opened the door and caressed her in mmy arms while at the same time trying to insure her that in deed I was the help. I’mm sure she didn’t agree. After closing the door while positioning to do two things at once the vehicle was started. Quicker than lick it she’s split; wrestled herself away from this giant burglar who was taking her away from the only family she’s ever known. She dashed under the front seat.

I let her stay there not worrying if she’d scamper to get stuck under the gas pedal, jump up into the heat vent or even open a door and run for her life. Not knowing where all the energy let alone the constant stream of air came from but she ballooned all the way back to mmy place. Halfway there I turned up the local KILI radio station hoping she’d sing along. She did, or so it seemed. She was in toon.

Again, it was a very short ride. It wasn’t very good luck when trying to corner this thing in a van with many hiding places to get lost for one so tiny. I even looked inside and through the spare tire lug nut holes. In any case it was not that easy.

Finally at one point her constant ballooning gave her away each time she moved to a darker place but speed was her ally. Within a half hour I had cornered her. We were on the way into the house; I with a smile and she still ballooning towards new adventures. At this time with her in the palm of mmy hand I wondered how to make this thing bulge without steroids and ready for the quick hunt.

Inside we went. I immediately led her away from mmy ears and on to the floor when she scooted away from what it seemed like she thought an immediate and certain death. I didn’t see where or how far she scampered. Suffice it to say she was in hand so to speak and I wasn’t worried about losing her in this enclosed space.

I left plenty of food and water out for her, changed it everyday; called her seven thousand times a day and wondered if all the doors were still shut. It was still summer. Fortunately for mme, all night long and every night she let mme know she still had a good voice while doing a good imitation of a balloon’s release.

After three days I asked a neighborhood girl, without divulging the species, to see if she could find the thing making that balloon noise. She was a ten year old painter who lived up the street and visited all the time along with the dozen other kids of all shapes, genders and sizes. They all knocked on mmy door at the same time asking if it was time because all belonged to the group we started called, ‘The Spruce Street Colour Club.’ We did art together; especially when their parents needed a baby sitter during rain storms and who even then left the door open at all times. They loved the house and the old things we found to paint. I loved them.

Felicia heard the balloon, walked to the sound, crouched under a pile of unpacked boxes, reached around for a short time and just saved another life. Balloonface was from then on, hidden no more. The kids gathered around and all were in tiny heaven. The little kitten of course received plenty of affection from the admiring crowd; ooze ‘n ah’s heard for days. They loved her and she them. I on the other hand was just the guy who fed, watered her and provided the warm bed; at least until the kids left. Then we became pals every night as she cuddled at mmy head.

I also wondered how long it would take before she would, could or even want to tackle the sir come stance I had acquired her for in the first place. It didn’t take that long to find out.

Yes, in fact she is all the woman had advertised; and more. Within no time not a moving anything came within balloon diss tints. From time to time she’d be at the door with presents that she really should have left in the trees. When she came home one day with a muskrat I begged her to be more careful; smaller would do.

Needless to say, it’s been over 14 years since that day. Many stories can be written about her; more than four poems are about this wonder. We found her lasting name when she finally let mme look into her eyes while keeping her voice in good working order.

Her voice and markings helped name her. Oddly enough and quite the coincidence a marking formed by shades of fur is a double capital M on her forehead. I wasn’t going to call her MMe so her name began and stayed for quite a while as, ‘Balloonface.’

After a few months but still with a good voice only with a better volume which I found to be quite enjoyable even to this day as she’ll talk all day long in her many conversational tones; she answered to the shortened name of:
FACE

MMy gorgeous FACE
The sail that keeps mme steady
The strength that helps mme float
The anchor that whole’s mme in plays
Sum food ‘fore thought Ms. Face?
A continual talker who discusses nothing in particular
Except when more nourishment or a chants
Two sit bye a window is her whish
FACE… mmy traveling companion since 1995
She settles down two in joy the comforts
Of our surroundings no matter we’re, oui our
Be we’re of cats.
Such a princess, she is
Like Sadie perra de la Aqua was
The Chesapeake Bay retriever who used to be with mme
Ever since she was six months old,
‘A Touch of Disney’
Leaving us before the age of 17 living a good life
Yes, she lived a long time as a blessing I’ll never forget
People also like to touch FACE as they did Sadie
They’ll exclaim her cool, her charm, her posture and regal-ness often
That she is; FACE
You’ll always wait to catch mmy eye
Before stepping precisely, silently, slow paced
You carefully approach mmy horizontal; Face
While pointedly glancing, lingering - grace
Aware of every movement between a you ‘n I place
You perch yourself upon mmy slowly breathing chest
The weight of your ounces hardly noticed you’ve set yourself there
We stare into each other’s I’s
You’re purring gently, feeling our heart to hearts pace
Your soft, warm fur moves in rhythm with
The shades of black to gray to white straight strands
Stirring between mmy fingers, mmy hands… and you,
mmy Face

Favourite Passed Times

January 06, 2010

Now a daze, in the age of in lighten meant - we’re witnessing new tech knowledge ease taking over the office and many other whirled’s so that some or a lot of the population can, deep ending on what it is, enjoy working at home while using one of the rooms, a base meant or even smaller cubicles their Inn; as an office or work space was when or if they even did have a job. Most consider themselves lucky to be employed nowadays. Maybe you’re won ovem.

Purr haps you and a phew friends get paid grate sums ‘fore this, others knot so much and many of course our stilled whishing end wanting for their both to come in. Whatever the case, when in the corporate world some had their spaces cleaned or re: organised by those paid to do such a thing or were instructed to specifically keep their bloody hands off there stuff know madder what. End ritely sow.

No one wants their private stuff messed with especially when they’re so together by keeping all and everything in front of them piled in groups together and reaching higher than two orders of larger then Maxed out takes fries.

I’ve a close friend; won whom after rooming width for quite sum time eye diss covered that her paper hoarding have its was knot just a miner activity. She’d litter-ully spend daze ‘n daze sifting threw bags ‘n box is of singular save yours just in case when it was time to sift end threw again she wood knot throw up or out sum think value a bull; the worse scene aria. From time to time, more not then often even she considered it was time to find a place to sit without hear wring the sound of crinkling paper getting moored them wrinkled under one’s butt tucks.

This will of coarse include kitchen tables, countertops, living room couches, stoves one never use is and yes even planter boxes with just clean dirt in it because it’s also a flat enough surface to file the pile things. The latter place mulched easier to find ‘stuff’ when one considers it used to have a pink plant in it that was watered at least twice a year before it died and not your fault the thing was on its last two leaves when you moved in any way; so what’s a litter moored paper going to doo?

This works fine because in fact it’ll be easier to diss cover most things smaller than a pin in a puddle of last weeks catch up spilled bye accident; or whatever it was that a peer’s that way end turned another colour overt time. It’s unlike whatever it was still in the back of your fridge that you’ve knot scene for over a year when you left it ‘until tomorrow.’ What was once a pure shade of delicious pink is now even purer tasteful morsels of cobalt blew with little white hairs groaning on it.

MMinded you I’ve never been accused of doing this kind of a thing. Friends voted mme cook of the deck aid, thanks to mmom. Thanks to mmom whenever a meal is served to one or 25 in mmy house everything is gone, digested before they leave or thrown in the corner behind the fridge for the mice larger than Rodan to feast on. Only kidding you; they’re much smaller than that. Friends find it pleasure a bull when leaving mmy table still breathing wild the gobbled food still gargoyles in sighed plea’s take the wrest home; paper roar plastic?

Besides, this poem has nothing to do with refrigerators, food, drink or anything edible unless you’re claiming to be a goat; in which case you’d eat anything anyway including the subject of one’s:

Favourite Passed Times

Piles a paper’s in

Pay purr’s end
Piles

Papers of texts
End

Poke – purge - threw files

One after next
End

Next one’s - two thins
Grab ‘em from the box
Left to write

Too file ‘em
Boxed or bin?

Out of boxes - out’s in timed
Emptied texts
Through out amm i'mm

Put in - Out rack
Put out - In
End

Take what’s next?

Forget the plain trite
Bye lined texts!

Spread sheets - Shredders creeps

Texts X'd rent to strips

Nothin’s left - yes,

Won kin si

Went!

Nothin’s left?

Too nixed!

Angels of the Night

January 05, 2010

Wander lust is in mmy bones and spaghetti sauce is in mmy veins. I’ve been lucky enough some might say to be able to travel while still being a healthy person. Moored times then not, just about every time though, the purpose was or the fact is that travel was all ways part of the chosen vocations. The process being the most important part of this life’s journey, I’ve followed wherever the colour or sounds asked mme to be.

MMined you the travels still happen from time to time but not as often as they did when in other daze it was more of a necessity for won reason or another. Amazingly enough, when actually counting these occurrences in total for the very first time a few months ago, the number was quite staggering when won considers the many equations in the MMicks.

The time and place the current poem was composed is one of the many recollection’s with Mother Nature in mmined; one of countless times visiting a most lovely part of northern California; The Point Reyes National Sea Shore.

This could be a very, very long story with more than who knows how many other sub - stories that I can tell you about Point Reyes; suffice it to say that rather than write a book at this point, aisle try to keep it a bit shorter and simplify to save other tomes for future ramblings.

Point Reyes was one of the first pacific beaches I visited when a first time resident in California; July 1972, I think it was. Don’t quote mme; I’ll have to look that one up. Point Reyes was also the last pacific beach I visited just before leaving California the last time in 2007. It is one of mmy favourite places to visit and perhaps due to the relentless fog at certain times, it’s a most mysterious one.

The following poem concerns one of the instances on a visit with a dear friend who as we speak is trying to find her next dream in Switzerland. Maybe it’s this time eh, R? In any case mmy wish is still for your happiness; hope you’re having a good time due wing what end who you love.

R, like most times we traveled together was driving when visiting Point Reyes. We had driven for about four or five hours from further north where we both were living; a little challenge in itself considering the directions we didn’t take care to figure out before hand. Although I actually lived in Marin for over 20 years the short cut we took, wasn’t; but like a great friend who introduced mme to that place and many more like it on mmy initial introduction to that state, I’mm always in the mmined set that there is no such thing as… lost. Fortunately mmy vacationing partner soon realised this and the tantrums eased through a great escape.

Most travelers who tend to find the greatest pleasures while sticking to the back rodes know there is NO lost. There always is and always will be another way as you’ll find out if you haven’t already. So fear not except when time is of the essence of course. It or whatever one is trying to find in the scents of place will be there upon your arrival.

Earth only moves in either a Mother Nature catastrophe or sometimes a man made one, the latter not as obvious. There’s a good chants whatever you’re trying to find, you will; sometimes it may take a little longer but depending on what you’ll find in the process, it may be a better experience because of it. Also take into account that I’ve no clue about deserts, too many to mention foreign countries or froze in tundra’s ‘fore that madder. Although one time I can remember wearing a bathing suit in a snowdrift was in an unusually warm mountain retreat, the only times I’ve traveled to cold wasn’t for a vacation.

This instance, poem, story, whatever you want to call it was after R ‘n I checked into a local on Tomales Bay resort. A second floor, front wall of windows view of the bay and not too mention gorgeous weather besides, was our stay. Most of you who have been to this area know that many mornings are draped in fog which quickly from the heat of the sun ‘burns off’ a few hours later and you’re a witness to sum amazing eye candy. This happens a lot during the seasons change and this day was no different. We often fed a family of sea gulls who landed in our mist on the back rail facing the high or low tied of the bay.

After an in our room coffee and no breakfast whatsoever but a great, extravagantly expenseive meal the night before at Vladimir’s, a local and long standing Czechoslovakian restaurant, we headed out to find a glory us day at the Point. Driving for under a half hour I guess, we were getting close to not only the point but anywhere one ventures to find anything in nature, this preserve will serve you well; where we decided to make our first stop and walk the rest of the way is when we met up with something left by:

Angels of the Night

Shortly after approaching
An unguarded entrance
We slowly meandered
Through the rolling mist
Fog drifting in a hush
Lingering just long enough
To greet us like a friend
Leisurely encircling us
Grasping our vision
With its transparent vapor touch
At the same moment
Advancing wild spinning curls
Traveling beyond
Its daily morning ritual
Journeying towards
Higher ground covering
Thick to thin green clusters
An ancient forest’s mixture of trees
Stretching to the clouds
Listing at varying degrees
Like monumental offerings
Seemingly held in place
By earth hugging bushes
Amber and gold grasses
Pinnacles waving with the wind and
Standing guard at their feat
The narrowly descending
Charcoal toned with age
Two lane country road
Undivided by streaks of man
Sparkled with the morning dew
Its curved surface glistening
Like tiny tinted jewels
Painted by the Gods of reign
Left there, bye
Angels of the night.

The Hearns 'n Jones Is

January 04, 2010

One of the places I’ve lived was just up a little but kind of a steep hill which overlooked a 90degree curve on a two way street that at the time ran right through the tiny burgh and on its way to points east and west. While I lived there they began a faster connection that passed the town altogether completed after I left. Not good for town businesses but that’s always the way of progress. Until that happened the walk was two short blocks down and two long blocks to the left before reaching the middle of Main Street.

It was a very busy and loud thoroughfare both weighs two times a day until the bypass was completed. It was also a very dangerously narrow one. Many vehicles’ driver’s sighed mere roars were gone to the weigh of the scrap heap because of it; only to have more than won can count Bigger rigors continue on their way to the up most importance.

It was basically a semi-unfriendly avenue hill that more times than knot, even with signs quite visible explaining other why’s of course, the larger than the street could bare buses. The worse part was that trucks of all kinds would back off their engines in long sounds like a train with four locomotives was passing threw at ten miles per our. Needless to say, it wasn’t conducive in competing with a hushed tones neighborhood. Even the local squirrels jumped back into their tree pouches from this continual machine gun engine effect; most likely from something their parents explained to them from babyhood on about hunter’s fright.

Wasn’t long ago while living in this little Northern California and one of those little panning gold towns that I met the next door neighbors. They were a family of seven with the oldest child, a boy about 14 years old at the time and the youngest about 7 years old also a boy. In between were two other boys and a girl who was the second oldest and whose name everyone shortened to call her Sam. She wasn’t really a tom-boy per se but she was definitely tough enough so that her brothers treated her with respect as being a girl who could stand her ground and be just as competitive wild doing any kind of sports. She is beautiful too. Hi Sam!

Quite an impressive family they were. The dad, a tall lanky, salt and pepper hair guy was more than friendly to everyone he met; stern but loving with the children and a genius of a mechanic besides; at least, ”on vehicles that didn’t have too much electronics in their system,” he’d always say. He was also great with huge highway or farm machinery of any kind including those with more hydraulics and wires then you’d see at the phone company.

The bigger the engine the more he loved to get his hands on it. Naturally a guy like this has more than four or five vehicles in this unregistered possession, sometimes more and usually only one works; most times so that he or the rest of the family can have at least one in which to ride with him or he alone in order to get parts for whatever he was working on at the time. Kathy, the mother had her own vehicle that she depended on for work so that was kept in the best shape at all times; not to mention food, soccer, church, track meets or practices of any kind.

Kathy, dad’s then not yet married to live in girlfriend was a medical person. They
eventually both decided to marry each other a few years later and whose wedding reception I attended held at ‘The Boy Scout Camp That Wasn’t.’ Thereby making them an official and legal husband and wife team. Kathy wasn’t a doctor really but she is certainly certified or/and registered with the county. She is a person with more than enough education and knowledge to be hired privately to give medications of all sorts of things including those one would need to survive a myriad of ailments one would get from early childhood to a ripe old age of 100 or more depending if she could catch you with her needles. She usually did.

Besides being a medical person, Kathy was raised on a farm so she also knows a great deal about farm animals as well as growing things; I can be her witness when anyone will question in court, why she has two green thumbs; all of which she proves everyday either before she leaves to take care of other people or after she returns home to hang with her husband; which isn’t very often. Most times she’ll be driving back and forth to all sorts of kid’s activities as well as doing or being the general of daily house chores. The woman is a dynamo with a warm heart who knows how to do most anything when it comes to raising children.

A large part of her job’s were sleep over’s; sometimes when closer to home and work, she’ll do this two, three or even at four day increments in order to have a flexible enough schedule to also be a reliable and loving mom. Anyone would quickly realise that both parents were awesome when it came to parenting because it was reflected in a big way by how one would perceive their children. Great kids they were and still are. It’s been about seven years since first meeting them. The only changes I’ve seen are that they’re older, taller and much wiser.

Early on the family and I shared the same fence. Shortly after meeting them I began to play uncle or another guy in any number of games we used to play together. I can also take credit for presenting the rules, regulations and boundaries before, during and after we were too tired to play another game of stick ball or stair ball; both of which I think were invented by somebody who lived on the streets of New York City; mmy original home town. “What? You’ve NEVER played stair ball?” I remember asking them when they were bored one day during a weekend summer visit.

Needless to say I loved the kids and still do. We’ll all talk on the phone every now and then when I call their parents in order to catch up on what their family is up to. The following poem was composed while sitting in mmy vehicle one warm summer night. I was parked in their circular, graveled driveway under one of the huge trees on their property which granted plenty of shade next to the roof of that particular house where they used to live; the one before the one they’re in now.

It was a five acre estate near another small town. They had a few tame and docile horses, more eggs from chickens than you can shake a feather rat, a great and not so small of a dog who slept in the parents room and traveled wherever they moved; of course there were the usual family, family of cats, gerbils, parrots in two separate cages, the continually enhanced rabbit brigade, a visiting skunk or two, possums, raccoons, squirrels all over the place and once in a while an unwelcome snake that the kids would find roaming around somewhere and bring it home to mother. The dad skinned a few and either made belts with them or hung them up for display. This was also the place where the dad had the fewest vehicles I’ve ever known any maniac mechanic not to have.

They moved to this place a short time after I moved about an hour away. I visited many weekends mostly to get relief from big city life. Unfortunately due to the under a year old landlord selling the place they moved one last time. This time the day has a great job. They live outside of what no one would really consider any town at all except for the combined grocery, bar/restaurant, and a few houses close by neighborhood.

A mile away is a two story house they lucked into because of a church friendship. The house which really wasn’t was converted from what used to be an office complex. Including huge machinery that the dad can work on in a humongous garage/pole barn with a cement floor. Both sit right next door and within hear ring diss tints of a huge, getting ready to be online, bio-mass fed electrical producing facility. I was still living on an 85 acre property and visited them there as well. A little heard of cattle hung close by, a big enough lake to have row boat fun, and lots of acreage for everyone to get lost or do plenty of kid things without mom or dad being able to watch one’s every move.

It’s great to recall all their energy, smiles, and greetings as I approached any or all of their houses. Dinner was also wonderful washed hands everywhere and on everything time. Most times arriving on a late Friday afternoon when all they wanted to do was play it wasn’t easy but it was always fun with any one or the entire family wild keeping up with:

The Hearns ‘n Jones is

Adrian, Samantha,
Chris, Jacob ‘n Josh
Count down, all five of ‘em
Week end’s family wash!

Michael Jones - dad ‘n
Kathy Hearn’s mom
Parent’s of the clan
Spend in a weekend with fun on

Drive in from big town hell bent,
‘Bout an hour from M-K’s plays.
Passed din - suburb’s city scent,
Flight planned, ran, rush bye fray’s.

Evade see meant talk’s burr sting fast
Traffic’s herd ill’s stag ‘n ants massed.
Malls ‘n walled, stalled engine’s crunch
Up to roost, stir J ‘n H bunch.

Arrive at gate’s knoll get out - in.
Greened cut’s smell - horse wags, tales spin.
Rooster’s marched cocks a doodles raze dust;
Feed ‘em, lead one’s screech - soar plus.

Aye, peek eggs - tolled - can’t touch a new.
Rest of crest did hens, coddle too
Look a round ‘fore stick ball mates.
Bat’s at ready, gloves crew waits.

Si, they’re smilin’ face is burst,
Glad tag’s, wild run’s too the bench.
“Wanna play stick ball, MMick?” Jake’s verse
Josh smiles, turns the ‘betcha, bud’ wrench.

“Course aye do pals, who’s at bat?”
“Lemme first!” fires Jake ‘fore most crack.
“Watch it now they’ll knot be slow.”
MMick’s first pitch, Jake takes - fly’s blow.

“Geeze! ‘at’s great Jake! Watch ‘er float!”
Jake’s all smiles; “Hit’s far!” - Hearts bloat!
“Come on slick, just one more pitch,
Due win good, ain’t aye amm, MMick?”

Next is Josh, won little tyke’s big.
Hits ‘em hard, balls croak, bat’s twig.
Then their’s Cris crisp swing pitch lopes
Get’s ready- bat’s flexed, high, ball’s toast.

Sam’s cool pitch in, there’s no doubt
Pro swing’s, smashed hits, “Phew!” oui tout.
Adrian’s the man ‘n works hard to
When throw wins strikes, he’ll fast, bye you.

Ball’s in, fall aisle’s play - this team
Best of Michael’s - Kathy’s lights beam.
Y’all never find a better than, brood
Bright, cares, smiles, in joy rides - true.

Michael ‘n Kathy’s nature, nurture plans.
Mom’s ‘n dad’s ain’t better at get it.
Mechanical genie us Michael’s twice ‘The man.’
Clever Kathy, mom’s magic - Medic.

Kin’s guide their clan from dawn to dusk
All hop in, through won, the beat.
They’re ray’s, “There, good,” rewards ‘n trust.
Mr. Skinner’s walk moves their feat.

Praise the Hearn’s ‘n Jones is;
What a pleasure - treat.

Ordinary Things

January 03, 2010

At this point of blogging and just to help you be a we’re, perhaps a reader if they’re not familiar with the way eye write or they don’t already, may want to know the meaning of the word homophone. This is something many may wreck in eyes that I use when composing words either a little or sometimes a lot when writing mostly anything original and sum would say, out of the ordinary.

These writings they’re for, may or may knot be pretty or at times puzzling; sometimes, mmined you… but suffice it to say, they’re written with tongue in cheek more often then not, to bring a smile or to perhaps slow your reading down to make a finer point or to give meaning where none exists to begin width.

In any case if you hadn’t before - now you know. Purr haps you’ll be patient or find more patients with mme; the latter of course depending on the building you may find mme occupying at the moment or even considering the jacket. Having said this then, end knee’d less too say, aye welcome you - sow pleas continue:

It wasn’t very long ago, maybe a month or so when I connected with a different but also similar to a few others - ‘Artistic’ types of web sites where art of any or most forms of such, is the main focus ‘for a cause’ so to speak. Art for this/Artists to assist for that; these web sites mostly asking creative people to help any number of causes with the creations of their particular art… some more legitimate than others. Like anything else won never knows until, ‘The search.’

No information to this particular web site was provided really except for the name of the organisation in large colourful letters that were superimposed on a painting behind or underneath them. The only contact information was an email address. Being very skeptical but interested enough by wanting to find out more I sent an email to the address supplied. With a quick response I learned that in fact the owner of the website was currently having someone working on it; the ‘construction’ of it will be mostly completed in a month or so; at least this is still mmy understanding at this date. When it’s ‘up and running,’ I’ll supply the URL.

After sending back and forth emails to the owner and finding a little more about what was to come, why, who, where etc… she asked if I’d like to be on the board of this organisation in order to help with whatever I can in mmy fields of interest; in particular mmusic and art. Due to the past personal experience mmusic, at least at the beginning is to be the focal point. After agreeing suggested a list of things I could do, or too include, so to speak.

The first board meeting was to take place and attended by about eight or nine other individuals all in another state I wasn’t even close to being located. None the less this is a new age whereas the net, videos, web casts, web meetings, cell phone conference calls and the like are nowadays, the norm. When it came time, I phoned at the prescribed hour and was involved in the meeting a peer ring as a speaker phone for about three hours. I just listened as intently as won could, basically getting the gist of the whole meeting and from time to time adding mmy too scents.

One thing led to another after listening and realising that the best thing I could do at this beginning point was to Google a web site that was one of the main reasons for this board to form. After looking around that site which was more than cool for lots of reasons I found out that its main goal is to help some of the poorest people in a very remote area of another country by flying usually two small air planes, piper cub type, for mostly medical reasons; more than a few concerning life or death situations including those of the pilots. The latter being mostly terrain, night or day and especially weather issues.

Searching around that website a bit more and after just completing the read of an autobiography of Amelia Earhart titled, ‘The Sound of Wings,’ another authored by her publisher husband George Putnam who used all of her notes written and sent to him before her demise titled, ‘Last Flight,’ I was more than inspired to connect with one of the pilots of the two air planes because as it turned out, in fact this was a woman as swell. Laura is one of the two pilots with this mission.

After reading those two books it was interesting to learn how much the two authors contributed to not just the flying world which made it very possible for the current pilot and all the others like her to do what they do but how much the authors contributed to the future of flying in general; including helping to design and test the new airplanes of the day. Ms. Earhart having no problem working on the mechanicals as well; and like Laura getting grease in her hair was never a real concern. She hung with the boys and loved every minute of it, and they her.

One of the main reasons for Ms. Earhart’s ventures was to help aviation’s progress both in the air and on the ground. I’ve not seen the current movie about her life but I would hope this is one of the main points they make about her involvement in aviation. She didn’t just sit in the air plane as a passenger as many people don’t know about her first Atlantic crossing flight. Amelia was in and out and all around most any part of the air plane’s she piloted.

A coincidence perhaps but the first meeting of this art board group took place in the same place that Ms. Earhart not only did teach as part of their faculty but she also wanted to teach there again and after her last flight.

As we realise flying hasn’t been around for that long but when considering not only women being equal to men in flight but how Ms. Earhart contributed to the equality of women in general, it was very inspiring to read what Laura, the pilot had written in her journal in relation to her missions in flight as well as to serve one of the poorest peoples in the world is what she does every single day.

Without a doubt, her job isn’t an easy one; it’s also very dangerous for the simple fact of most places she has to land in this foreign to us country; restricted to daylight mmined you; they have only one, sort of; regular airport like most of us would imagine in the U.S. or any modern society for that matter. Sometimes the weather, and many times her landings are life threatening. But Laura is tough, as some of the images as well as the mission’s she’s referred to in the photos she’s sent mme have presented.

Like Amelia appeared to the public and was promoted in her tough as nails, equality to men while also presenting an image of in joying her womanly ways, Laura is no different. She, her husband and family also battle on and could almost care less in their every day’s about the dangers they face; including waking up in the morning to shake their shoo’s just in case any kind of jungle danger of death incarnate has settled in them the night before; deadly snakes, spiders and the like are just a rigorous shake away to stepping in her life. Try that while maid up end smiling ‘fore sighs Ms. Paris Hilton.

Everyone working with and including Laura does not get rich doing what they do of course which is even more commendable. Her husband Bill is with her to manage their activities and of course their two children are with them, as well as another married couple. Jud the pilot and his wife Karen and their children are all living in a poor country trying to do the best they can, under very difficult and endlessly tiring, long hours into nights while sleeping in the air plane conditions.

They go on with their lives with all the unbelievable hardships they have to endure while helping others by trying to bring a better quality of life to them. What we do everyday to survive within mostly walking distance of all the common grocery stores, easy access to water or electric and what have you, does not exist in the mostly remote places where they fly, work and live.

If this isn’t enough, know that Laura is also a qualified, certified RN with a degree to prove it. Although she already has in the past she will soon be aiding the same people she’s living near but in addition to her flying will be working in more of a medical capacity/environment. Maybe a coincidence here but amazingly enough Amelia like Laura also worked in the medical field before becoming a famous aviator. I wonder if they’re sum how related? ;o)

Although there are others like them, I’d say its pretty dam amazing none the less. It’s also very obvious that it’s their love of people; their fellow humans that keep them all going with love in their hearts hoping for a better day for everyone.

These thoughts have stimulated a few songs created after reading Laura’s entire journal; well, as much as she’s written and sent up to this point at least. She keeps mme updated from time to time. After asking her for a little inspiration and a few stories about the people they meet, what they do ‘over there’ and such; the first three songs were composed from her words and our perhaps what one may find to be thoughts that may help us all to be thankful for what we have from the get… go...

The first and maybe the most important theme is from what Laura’s called:

Ordinary Things

The 12 year old boy lay still - past a weigh
Two other passengers along - just four flyin;
She spoke to the dad, “Sorry, how did your boy die?”
“…spewed up blood, autopsy awaits,” deeper sighin’
He choked; tears river flowed,” Not slept nor have I ate
His mom died, not long ago, when he was two; (her fate)
I’ve raised him by mmyself, now love is gone” He cried
Hearing hearts had broken as one, now both cries where he lies.

After flying she was sad, “Ran to town with her kids, glad
Did some errands made two key’s for her two rings
It always takes so long for the simple chores these daze
Just for the ordinary things
It always takes so long for the simple chores these daze
Just for the ordinary things.”

Some night’s there’s no power; it’s always bad or sad
Where’s the water? There’s NO PHONE? A-C, no light
She gazes two black walls; all her plans now all unmade
Can’t relax, pass free time, it’s just a fright
Bill her Man, took jugs ‘n ran, called the cab, filled all he can
There’s no water, dark as hell, a lone’s the night
Tucked the kids inside the nets, stroked one’s cheek, rubbed other’s neck
She smiles wide, computer’s bugs; mosquitos on the web site

After flying generators hum, she’s emailin’ home to one
She loves touching friend’s back home and yes she sings
“It always takes so long for the simple chores these daze
Just for the ordinary things
It always takes so long for the simple chores these daze
Just for the ordinary things.”

She stumbles ‘cross the floor, it’s a dark kitchen, closed the door
Head bent down low, strains to see, that dark’s a trip
Out reaches, handle’s grabbed; her eyes gasped, star shine’s so fab!
Sings,” There’s so many! Why there’s my fav! The little DIPper.

Yes, the lightning’s playin’ ‘rounds, all the love strings in her heart
Clouds in 3D, silhouettes skies illuminate
Crickets chirpin’, frogs in tune, earth mother’s mmusic plays the room
Darting bats, her heart strings sings, “MMan! Isn’t this great?!”

After flying, died in - runs, watching heavens - stars she loves
Sea’s, blue skies, enlightening strikes, True Love she brings
She sings, “I’ll always thank mmy stars for all the simple things these daze
Just for the ordinary things
She sings, “I’ll always thank mmy stars for all the simple things these daze
Just for the ordinary things,
Just for the ordinary things,
Just for the ordinary things.

(Thanks for the inspiration Laura)

An Angel at the Domes

January 2, 2010

It’s amazing when perhaps as we find ourselves moored times than not in an unfamiliar place; maybe even quite interesting depending on how we connect or don’t with other humans. This won particular time I can remember and still strikes the sin naps as being one of the fondest memories. It’s as if when the light of a flash camera were to go off, time stands still for just a few seconds or a short minute and then it’s gone; never to return again. Later it feels as if it was a dream but you know it was a reality because it was.

I was visiting for the first time ever, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. A great town by the way, if you’ve not scene it, then you must. It has so many cool things about it and of course like any big city, the opposite as well; but forget that the good always out weighs the not so. I’ve been back several times so don’t fret, it’s a beautiful town no matter what you may have heard otherwise. Obviously this is not the only account I could write about Milwaukee; I do love it.

In any case a good friend had invited mme this first time to spend a few days in Milwaukee for Christmas. Gladly I traveled by airplane thankful ‘fore the entrance to the long security check points and the oh so kind people manning the metal scanners. In this case the person attending mmy particular privates was womanning the metal scanner… and yes, I did get both shoes returned. I specifically remember it was the holidays because of where this actual episode took place; the decorations of Christmas were in a colourful bloom. http://www.county.milwaukee.gov/MitchellParkConserva10116.htm visit that
URL (Cool website); you may also agree. I guess it’s known primarily as the Milwaukee Conservatory etc. etc. etc… but I just call it, ‘The Domes. ‘

To any of you out there who have never been to nor even know about ‘The Domes,’ then I’d say you’re missing one of the best things to visit in Milwaukee which also has one of the best museums in the U.S.; especially when one considers just the building! The Milwaukee MMuseum on Lake MMichigan it is.

It’s constructed on a small inlet; a beautiful, curving shore of Lake MMicigan. Even from a long distance away this awesome structure appears as an architectural and quite literally a moving sculpture. You’ll notice this fact as soon as you see it. I won’t go into detail but suffice it to say if you’re ever in Milwaukee then by all means, and pleas due yourself a favour, don’t miss it either, you won’t be sorry. Better yet visit it in summertime when more activities than one can count on hands and toes take place in the huge park adjacent to it. I was lucky enough one time to visit in summer and too witness a humongous kite festival for example; lots of food, citizens of all shapes, age, fun and mmusic.

Maybe most of you know about the great Harley factory located in Milwaukee and of course Miller Brewery, but now you know of ‘The Domes;’ It’s another set of beautiful structures and one of the town’s coolest places. There are three of them. Domes, I mean. That’s right - count ‘em, one, two, three; all clustered together so you can walk from one to the other without having snow or pigeon stuff fall on you. Careful when visiting where the birds are though, ya neva no.

I always wanted to live in a dome. The space is so spiritual. It’s the circle really, isn’t it? These Domes are huge. I mean they’re humongous big. Don’t quote mme on this but I’d imagine they’re over 100 feet in diameter; a pretty close estimate in sighs. Each dome has a specific theme. One is tropical one is as a dessert and one always changes with the season. Like I’ve said, when I was there it was Christmas; everything in that dome had lots of red, white and green in it.

Aisle’s kip writing too much about that one because it was pretty common stuff except for the way a few of the structures devised to display many of the things in it were quite imaginatively built. So whenever the season, don’t miss that one either. Besides it was so long ago, that I wouldn’t doubt it’s always a case of NEW and IMPROVED.

The other two domes were more interesting, and one more than the other mostly because they were like visiting another world; as not being able to see everything everywhere in our lifetime, these domes made it possible to bring these specific atmospheres to us. Quite impressive, they were. The entrance fee wasn’t one to break the bank so to speak but it wasn’t that cheap either… still worth it; I highly wreck amend it.

One of the other domes design was created in a genius interpretation of a desert ambiance. If anyone’s visited Arid zona, parts of the U. S. southwest or just about anywhere one would consider it a bit warm shall we say, then SOMEthing related to it was most likely being groan in this dome. I’d like to see their water bill although I didn’t see any snakes when in it - butcher never know the management may have added a few motorized rubberised ones just ‘fore affect; don’t think a pie thong is one of ‘em though.

The Dome remembered most and the one I spent the most time in; a favourite I guess was the tropical one. Maybe due to the fact that it was winter outside and very cold but I just loved to walk around the six or ten foot wide meandering asphalt path built for those who wanted to amble around the place and feel like you’re in a Jurassic Park movie or at least a Disney fan ta see. It was very clean and bright; the domes are basically all windows except for kind of a wall from the floor up to - I don’t remember how tall in most parts but the places just ooze of multiple colours and many shades of beauty thanks to Mother Nature designs.

As I recall in tropical land, every single plant had a tag either stuck in the ground next to it or placed upon it describing or naming it in that weird language of either Welsh or Latin. Both languages we all can understand thanks to whoever spells most words like I do using the letter M. Besides I thought it was very kind of the designers in the way they wanted to educate the public of, “Who knows? What is THAT one anyway? What does that spell daddy? Darn if I know honey!”

No question, all parents, grand parents or any Latin/Welsh speaking scholar can help the little tykes learn how to pronounce any number of those things… like maybe one if there’s just a grammar school student present and one having just read their Weekly Reader plant catalog. The names are obviously very easy to remember mostly for either those who speak or understand Latin or most likely even your run of the mill biologist would have know trouble decipher wring large print that appears to be in the common Welsh language too, yes?

I meditatively walked the tropical path one and a half times. The half time because on the return to this interesting spot stopping the second time a round to ponder (no pun intended) at what was a little alcove built into the bush kind of setting. A comforting sound permeated the area. A very comfy looking wooden bench just sat there for anyone who cared to park take in the mood of the presence to enjoy the very thick and very greenery scenery. I did too.

In front of the wooden bench stood a little railing with balusters one could easily see through while observing and listening to the babbling brook that ran past it. Beautiful site this was. The rail was there so the public wouldn’t or couldn’t fall down the few feet it was to where if one looked over the rail, a little pond was encased by the bush, designed to plea’s the I’s, ears end knows.

A naturally appearing gathering point to help the sound of water falling to maybe whoever was visiting would take a gander overtop or threw for whatever reason;. The short drop was inviting enough for passersby to sit and meditate if you will. Contemplate the quiet of nature; or just to reflect or re: flex any number of muscles or bone aches that may need this without surgery.

Needless to say, a specific memory took place hear and of course as I sat there and had a few thoughts, one being of what I would do if a small family group or a single person came to stop. In a short span of time two women did just that. One wasn’t just A woman mmined you. The one who stopped to stand next to mme looked so familiar that after about four seconds while feeling her ‘space’ so to speak, thinking to mmyself, this could well be Sally Fields. She came with an older woman who sat down on the bench after I got up to look over the rail when they approached. I thought maybe ‘The Older,’ was her made in wading.

Standing silent I began to look over the rail at what one would think is going to be a cool Mother Nature scene. It wasn’t. What it was was sort of a natural, little pond; somewhat like we’d see in a forest or something; or at least that’s what you may be imagining at this point; maybe. Well, this is what I was hoping for too; except that the pond I thought I was about to experience was yes, a pond-like thing but I’mma frayed when peer ring down to the bluely lit convergence of about two or three feet of clear, clean water, what I witnessed made mme puke.

Ruined the whole thing for mme really. So I said to the woman (or Sally) still standing next to mme in silence. “Sheesh, wouldn’t you know it? Up to this point this whole place was beauty, seemingly untouched by human hands, although obviously it was built by humans. How diss appointing this is; LOOK at that; can you believe it?”

She looks down and around for a few seconds as if to be oblivious to whatever it was that I was thinking about puking over; then looks mme in the eye, smiles and says, “Why do you say that?” We both laughed lightly with a common human touch. Both eyes squinting as I said, “OOOOOOOOH, come on now, does THAT look like a natural scene to you? I mean come on, be honest.”

She said, “No, not really but I think I like it.” I asked, “You LIKE IT? Ok, granted it’s not a garbage dump but for cry’s aches why do people have to ruin a good thing like that? It’s supposed to be a natural seen to begin with and LOOK; so many people turned it into something it’s not. LIKE THAT THING! Why did they do that? Wait don’t tell mme; let mme guess. It’s for like when you go to the store and you don’t want to break a large bill and before asking the attendant for permission you just grab one, right?” She laughed along.

Actually, it didn’t really appear that it was intentional on the part of ‘The Dome’ people; but it’s just that things like this seem to happen sometimes just because of what it is or has been in our short human history, not ALL the time mmined you but just this once I was expecting something better from mmy fellow earthlinks. Unfortunately, for mme anyway, it was diss appointing.

I say and mean DISS appointing because that’s what it seemed like when whomever visits Mother Nature’s charms and whoever that very first one is that decides to leave their mark so to speak; well then depending on what it is of course, others are sure to follow with the thought of “I was hear too…”

A kind of graffiti ‘fore won’s I’s; sorry to say it was. Like visiting the well known Stonehenge or anything like it really. There’s ropes around that place now because of too many visitors who can’t help themselves from wanting to touch it. MMined you, I would want to as well, but like touching a painting from a long ago history, too many hands will in fact affect a change and most times not for the better. This was just another simple example and a common one at that; of humans changing nature for their own cents of being as opposed to just leaving the dam thing the way you found it for the next person to in joy in its natural Mother Nature state, thank you very much.

After a short time and before I left the scene, and may I add to mmy dismay at the time as well as after saying all this; Miss Sally Fields or whoever she was just couldn’t stand not joining in so she did the same thing! Taken aback at first, I then began to laugh and enjoyed the irreverence of the moment. No big deal really, simple as that - things change, yes? The following poem is two that affect.

Needless to say, two humans touched for what seemed like a very small instant but it was as if we knew each other already. (No it wasn’t her) Our meeting was just a quiet one after a welcoming smile; yes, I had those fantasies too but the following conversation was very easy; our voices one might have herd as long-time friends. The subject matters, every day one’s and luckily so after talking to her, I’ve chosen to file this one as:

An Angel at the Domes

- A scene -
An Angel at The Domes
Lassed time
A weigh from home.
She cast just one for the fun of it.
Many one mores gunned too the sum of it.
Phew! Coins they went
Falls of jewels
Gal lore
Each wished and then
Through whished
Sum more.
Her add did the sum
Too the change smart darts went.
She threw her hearts hum
Too accumulate
Spent.
The Domes
Day by day
Remunerating when
In the aquatic piper's piled
Of wish is end
Wished bends.
Then??

He to…
Them - We
Oui!

Two shoot - the falls.
" We'll whish this annnnd…
"Oh heck.
Won more, more.
What's too more?"
Two spend.

- The weigh -
Wish is pill.
Those cast
Whishing's will.

Two coined
A phase
Too wishing
Whished daze.

- A scene –
Two Angels at:

The Domes

I Know Who You - Our

January 1, 2010

The first day of the next year it is. Where the heck has the ten years gone since I can remember being on the rez and wondering how to welcome in the new millennium. Where would I be? I wasn’t one of those who worried about Y2K.

As you can recall that scare was basically nothing at all; just a big hype about a little thing that hadn’t affected most people one iota. Who started that silly rumour any way? Had to be one of those befuddled little computer might’s who sleep on computer key bored’s after spending too many hours while trying to figure out how to scare the public with something they don’t know about and probably never will… or even care for that madder.

What I did do was travel to Chicago with yesterdays written tribute friend as we both celebrated New Year’s Eve at the Navy Pier along with thousands of other revelers. We parked not that far from the pier, in one of the well organised spaces. We rang in the New Year listening to a Jazz group before watching the fireworks begin with a huge bang on the roof top of one of the skyscrapers.

The whole room ran to the door of the nightclub. Everyone at once looked up at that point of the Sears Tower I think it was and huddled together outside in awe of the spectacle. There wasn’t an inebriated beyond control person in sight; least as far as I could smell; but there were certainly more than your usual count of moms and baby carriages; and of course it wasn’t as populated as Times Square in NYC would have been; being inside the scrum so to speak, it felt pretty close.

When the whole show was over, after walking what at the beginning seemed like a short walk, wasn’t at this point. We labored at a slow crowd controlled crawl. Finally arriving at the vehicle we had to wait for the longest time for the still reveling sea of humanity to pass before we could even pull out of our parking spot. Wonderful celebration that was in deed. I actually don’t remember seeing any uniformed or otherwise security agents within hearing distance. Cool, that.

Speaking of distance, low ‘n be wholed, and much too early for mmy U.S. revelry but not for hers, Lassed - Knight a good friend called to say ‘ello; from Wales no less. (I LOVE that country) Even in this day and passed what are ages of technology and forever’s happened many times besides this ‘Little’ one, I always think these kinds of things are amazing. It’s the distance really; or the timing of it actually. Think about it; for mme at least, it always seems to be because of the hours ahead or behind ‘they’ are, either back or forward; well, the forward at least feels to mme like it’s a call from the future. Not as often do I think of the reverse; doesn’t seem as amazing I suppose. Needless to say, like being struck with lightening, dazed ‘n confused as they say, I never seem to ask these callers from such a distance of time, what the heck should I expect in a few hours? I figure this would be a good thing to know especially if a huge asteroid were too close to our circle around the son. You know, or just in case I quickly need to find a hole to crawl into or in the frantic run to save mmyself or whomever’s with mme, one of those muscular looking, heavy duty ‘n won’t break if the sky falls on it - claw tub. Hoping the plumbing holds out and I don’t drown instead.

Say Jan, lovely hearing your voice. Although sounding quite sober as it was past your point of the magic 12 hour, (pubs closed were they?) aye DID hear every familiar pip as well as drops in the box, thank you very much; the timing was perfect. If by chants you didn’t hear it in mmy tones, which I can’t fathom really because I’mm sure you heard your welcomed touch across the big blue and beyond, as being a very pleasant sir prize. I’mm gonna hafta make it over sooner.

In any case, here it is ten years later than Y2K and eight more stops along the way to the next one. Welcome to 2010… sheesh, time never stops, eh? Last night was not as crowded as years passed, but this little ode was written after one of the latest, a beautiful and most quiet night snow storm that was more like a sprinkle of Tinkerbelle’s dust; a pleasant walk and quiet enough to in joy a smile.

Remembering all that, this morning I woke up, head in hand, eyes almost open, clean shaven from the night before and smelling like a bard of soap; I pet mmy cat FACE, rolled outta bed, turned on Mr. Lapped Topp; from beginning too end deliver this, ‘a little while ago thing,’ at the same time wishing you a MMerry, MMerry ‘n the best of whatever’s to come your way but even more happily sow:

I Know Who You - Our

After experiencing the too short light and bright
Daze of summer I’mm not really enamoured
Of the everyday, sometimes more a day
Rituals of clothes in counters layer upon layer
Head to toe, cold in snow protection; I could
‘Fore go that part of life in a heartbeat. Unless
It’s mmy choice to go to it. Most times
Aisle knot appreciate the white dumping on the
Head, toes, hands or shoo’s without asking first…but
It’s always such a pleasant feeling to walk in
A quiet snowfall as it dusts the landscape
At night; small town lights a glow of
The passing holiday season when all
The street poles, thinned, barely trees are lit
Width streams of miniature colours that hold
Hands with mistletoe; stretched full strands of
Pine branches strung about their height and breadth.
All across Main Street wires, one after an other
Continued down a couple of the short blocks
That makes up tiny town’s quaint center’s shops.
Most of all not empty at this point.
Visiting the local library for a few hours
This was the scene that greeted mme wild
Strolling the 400 steps towards this current home.
I listened to each crunch of the alternating
Singular footsteps; first the step and then the
Squeeze and crunch of still soft but hardening snow.
I looked forward to a clean slate of white be for mme.
Too seconds later, eye turned around to question;
Bearing witness to a chosen path of the single footsteps
Unevenly designed stretching from close in to out of view;
Walking past familiar shapes passed every day
For the last several months; two times a day most times,
The late hour séance lingered with a steady beat of walking.
I looked for Mr. Squirrel who always seems to greet mme
At the right time of our familiar convergence, day or night.
How they do this one would guess is with an eye phone.
He always scampers towards his favourite tree, passing mme.
I have yet to hand him a morsel but think about it always, especially
When he runs to the tree base and climbs the opposite side
Out of site; but this time he let mme watch as he stopped
Twelve feet up on his usual knot to perch and chew his nuts.
Tonight he gazed down at the human who waved to him staring
Up to see if he notices. When he did, he just waited for mme
To make the next move. I didn’t. He didn’t. We both stared
At each other for a minute or more while the soft dusting of the snow
Played a quiet mmelody that both of us could feel.
A silent stare was our hello; I see you and I know who you – our.