winter weary

           winter weary

I am tired of wearing socks
     my beloved sandals sidelined

I am tired of heavy jackets
     cold freezing winds on my face

I am tired of icy sidewalks
     grungy dirty cars in need of washing

I am tired of the pain in my arm
     this damaged nerve so slow to heal

I am tired of naked trees
     small birds foraging for seeds

I am tired of electronic devices
     that refuse to function as they should

           *******
I am more than tired
      of political polarization

I am more then tired
      of hate and bigotry of others

I am more than tired
      of unfit and unstable leadership

I am more than tired
      of threats of nuclear war

                       I am more than scared

B o u g a i n v i l l e a T r i n i t y

                   Go ahead . . .

          show your three-partite
                bracts to the sun.

                 Delight the eye.

                       Fade . . .

                    then spiral
                   earthbound.

                Solar-powered
                    pinwheels.

IVORY SOAP

Memories come to surface, when allowed.

As a child, I wondered why the Ivory Soap invariably
would float in water. Ivory Soap, first came to the market
in 1879, claiming to be so pure (99.44% pure) that it
would float.

No matter how long I would hold it down . . . it still
would bob to the surface!

As a young person, I mourned for a long time over the
drowning death of a friend in the Red River of the North.
(The Red was formed by the flowing together of the
Ottertail and Bois de Sioux rivers. The Red River then
flowed north to Hudson Bay.)

I would sit on the bank of the Red- a special place to
pass the time and think.

Of the plethora of soap brands (Irish Spring, Dial, Coast,
Caress, Zest, Swan, Lever, Kiss My Face, Jergens,
Palmolive, Aveeno, Pure-Castille, Lux, Bon Ami, Lifebuoy)
is just to name a few.

For me,  IVORY stands out!

And for good reason . . .  it floats, and floating is good.

                        At times -
                                I still think of my friend's death.

WHITE

Cimicifuga
     still in bloom - even though the 
           calendar says mid-November.
     It's startlingly sweet fragrance
           commands attention.

When the breeze is just so . . . 
     neighbors walk over into our
           garden to
     seek out what
           smells that way.

Baneberry's reddish stalks, 
      adorned with white eyes and
             tiny black pupils, 
      appear to be on the search for
             their former neighbors -

      recently frost-bitten.

Plants with ever-new potential -
             but, at least for now,
      calmly await

             the white flakes of winter.

The Gift of An Hour

The shift from daylight time to standard time in these waning
days of Autumn, gives us the gift of an additional hour.

               And how might you use your gift ?

    You could take a nice long afternoon nap.

    You could bake a large batch of chocolate chip cookies
         and while still warm, share some with a neighbor.

    You could offer to rake the leaves from a
         neighbor's front lawn.

    You could connect with a friend and say
         how much the person means to you.

    You could greet people whom you don't know
         . . . with a smile.

    You could engage in acts of kindness and hold doors
         open for others or relinquish your place in line
         for someone.

    You could make a steaming hot cup of cocoa and
         sit by a window.

    You could take someone dear to you -
         out for lunch or dinner.

    You could begin reading that new book you
         haven't found time for.

                      You could even write a poem - or two !

S O S A D

Can't forget 19 days of
   totally grey, overcast sky.

Curiosity won over waiting
   but only at first.

How long can this go on?
   Is this what SAD* is
      all about?

Is the world
   broken?

It wasn't that there wasn't a
   total absence of blue.

Once in a while, a jay would
   wildly fleet through,
      stopping only to
         harass a few winter creatures
            that frequent our back garden.

All of a sudden, following the
   456 hours of grey-
       the sky parted
          just a bit to
             show blue.

Only to swiftly shrink away and
   close up.

Not until
   nearby neighbors
      rushed into the street - pointing
         away from the earth.

I joined them.

Together, we surmised whether or
   where blue would be
      seen again.

I wished it would return.

Wherever it went
   I will surely wish
      to follow.

Is it too much to have hope it
   would linger until
      the Killdeer
         call again?


                              *Seasonal Affective Disorder

Too Short

I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take, all
the books I want to read, and all
the friends I want to see. The
longer I live, the more my mind
dwells upon the beauty and the
wonder of the world.

                                  -John Burroughs