Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Morning Bus Stop

We stepped outside the back door, where early morning greeted us;
   the sounds of nearby hawks, awakened us.
Charlie dove out into the cool air, sniffing his way through the long grasses.
Now, mid-November, most of the Autumn colors have turned into various shades of brown.

We piled into the car, and drove down the gravel drive, feeling the grit beneath the tires.
Around the corner, we followed the fence line, where the cows in the neighboring field
   were enjoying their morning graze.
Just beyond,  evergreen trees popped out against the gray clouds.
And, as we drove to the bottom of the hill, two young deer cautiously entered our path,
their mother, not in sight - just behind, or just ahead.

And, beyond the gravel drive, the grit in the tires, the grazing cows,
   beyond the evergreens, the two young deer (and their mom),

red, flashing lights, on a yellow school bus.













    

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Truth or Coincidence? For the Love of Scrambled Eggs

Once upon a time, I started feeding Charlie scrambled eggs.

Just a few crumbles, in the morning, on top of his regular food.
He used to be patient.
I would eat my eggs, first, allowing time for his eggs to cool.
And, he would sit quietly.

As time went on, however, he grew less patient,
staring at me, at first, with with his wide, chestnut brown eyes,
as if willing me to pour the eggs from the pan;
eventually, adding a whimper, or a small grunt,
progressing into an impatient bark, or two.

Sometimes, I forget about the eggs, cooling in the pan.

Charlie will intentionally position himself directly in front of me, and with several loud,
demanding barks, let me know that he is no longer messing around.

This morning, I forgot.

I was engaged in a television program, when suddenly, the show paused.
I looked over to my left, where, two cushions over, sat the remote.
And, next to the remote, sat Charlie, staring at me with those pleading eyes.

Coincidence? Probably.
But, somehow, Charlie had pressed the pause button with his paw,
which reminded me about his eggs, cooling in the pan.

Only Charlie knows the truth, and he knows he loves his eggs.



Sunday, October 15, 2017

My New Normal

We were out of eggs.

Jack, 21, and Logan, 8, rode their bikes down the lane to pick up some farm fresh eggs and peppers,
   and some "surprise", hand-picked flowers, beautifully arranged in a mason jar.
Scrambled eggs, with basil (from a local, hydroponic farm), oven roasted peppers,
and cinnamon french toast, like the kind I made when the older kids were younger.

Sunday morning breakfast.

The sun was trying hard to break through the cloud covered sky,
  and the temperature was just pleasant enough to open up a few windows,
allowing the fresh, country air indoors. After breakfast, the hypnotic breeze drew me outdoors,
onto the front porch, where I sat, and watched, and listened.

Tall grasses, blowing, large birds - maybe hawks, or the less popular vultures, soaring;
tree shadows, reaching across the land. Butterflies. Monarch butterflies! Dancing, all around.

I, recently, read a story about the truth of moms on vacation. We cook dinner, wash the dishes, do the laundry - all of the normal, day-to-day tasks, in a more picturesque setting. That is how I feel. Though I know this is now my permanent residence, everything around me is so beautiful, and I can't believe it is not temporary. And, I wonder if it will ever get old.











Friday, October 13, 2017

New Neighbors: Ignorance is Bliss

There are cows in my backyard.

I can see them from every window, across the back of my house.
Technically, they are not in MY yard, but in the pasture, behind.
And, they are not MY cows, but belong to the farm, just beyond.

Still, every day, I see them.

There is comfort in knowing that they are there.

Tan, and brown - some, with patches of white, they saunter along the field.
Their tails, like tassels, on an old-fashioned shade, swish back and forth;
their ears, twitching, reacting, to the subtle sounds around.

Sometimes, they lie down in the field, resting from hours of grazing,
   almost disappearing into the landscape.
So "chill", these cows.
Whatever their fate, they look healthy, relaxed . . . content.

Charlie cannot see them.
He is too small, and the windows, too high.
Only from atop the brown chair, in the living room.

He has, yet, to meet them up close,
   and though I would imagine it is only a matter of time before he does,
it is best that he does not.
If he is as relentless with the cows, as he was with the squirrels, back home,
he will yap at those poor cows for HOURS.

It is a temporary peace. 











Saturday, September 30, 2017

Lost Lane

I love a good breeze.
Especially, an ocean one.
Though I am far from the ocean,
   the breeze from my rural, front porch, this morning, felt AMAZING.
And, the cooler temperatures felt invigorating.
The signs of Autumn are finally here!

The gift of this beautiful day inspired me to take Charlie for a walk.
He wasn't sure about his new leash and collar
   (he jumped when he heard the abrupt "click" of the buckle),
but just as I am sure he will warm up to his new home, he will adjust to his new wardrobe.

We took a left turn, out of the gravel circle, which leads to a dead end.
I had driven it, before, but wanted to experience it by foot.
The sky was a gorgeous, crystal, baby blue,
like the color that once graced the walls of my childhood bedroom.

Charlie seemed a little nervous, on our walk, holding his tail down.
It's okay, Charlie, this is new to both of us.   
Actually, though, as we walked past the line of tall trees,
   filled with birds that I could only hear, not see, 
and past the lush, green farmland, 
rolling with a healthy crop of (what looked like) soybeans, 
this all felt familiar to me. It reminded me of childhood, and camping,
   and horseback riding; of summer camp, and my imagination. 

As we approached the end of the street, we came upon a clearing,   
   where the bright green distinctly meets the crystal blue. 
And, there is a street sign that reads: Lost Lane. 

I smirked, as I said aloud, "Do you feel lost, Charlie?" 
Charlie looked at me, but did not answer.
Yea, sometimes that's a tough one to answer. 

We turned around to follow the lane back.
As we entered the gravel drive,
I released Charlie to let him run toward the house.
And, in that moment, watching Charlie run free, I felt energized, inspired,
and in awe of the beauty around me.

Lost, I thought. I definitely do not feel lost.






















Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Old and New

Here I sit . . .
amongst the familiar tapestry from one house ago, sipping coffee from a familiar mug; 
   the faint sounds of crickets, outside my window.  
WINDOWS, actually, for there are lots of them. 
The natural light and landscape fills every room.
No need for pictures, framed upon the walls. 

Other than the chirping of the insects, and the occasional whir of the air conditioner, 
   the sounds are silence. Were it not for the memory, the exhaustion, and the tired muscles, worn down from all of the packing, unpacking, and heavy lifting of stuffed, cardboard boxes, 
my mind could be tricked into thinking this is some remote vacation home, 
tucked away, far from the hustle and bustle, and stress.

I am surprised how comfortable the silence feels.

I saw our first deer, the other night. Dusk, really. 
A mother and two young ones, but not so young as to show their spots. 
   Slowly creeping along the back field, their ears perked up with curiosity, 
as they glanced over at the newly lit house that was now filled with life. 
I wonder if they will now change their evening path, or if they will learn to trust their new neighbors.

Each morning, since we arrived, the sunrise has been absolutely glorious.  
With no veils upon the windows, 
   I am awakened by beautiful and vibrant shades of orange and red. 
And, from my bed, if I lean forward just a little bit, I can see the fog, 
hovering just above the earth, making everything look magical; mystical. 

Charlie seems confused.  
I think he, too, believes we are on vacation. 
But, all of the old smells are here, combined with lots of new ones.  
And, there is no fence to keep him confined. 
Confined or comforted, I am not sure, 
   as he seems to be unsure about what to do with all of this open, limitless space. 
I am sure he will adjust.

Writing. I am writing! 
I even tinkered around on the piano, this morning. 
Just a few scales and chords. 
I was thinking about getting rid of the piano, as it is seldom used, 
   and seems to crowd the new space. 
But, maybe, in this new, inspired setting, it will play music, again.

Or, will that wear off, after the technology arrives. 
Right now, there is no tv or internet to be distracted by.  
That will change soon, however. 
The technician is on his way. 
I can see his van leaving trails of dust ,behind, as he drives up the gravel road.

This place really is beautiful.


Thursday, July 13, 2017

Avoiding Temptation

We had dinner at one of our regular hangouts.
Unfortunately, they serve REALLY good bread,
   which (during our time of restraint, in an effort to lose weight)
we try REALLY hard to avoid.

We do this by saying "no" when the server asks if we would like some.

On this particular evening, we were not asked, and a basket of bread appeared before us.

One quick, shared glance, and my fiance' pushed it away.

"We'll pretend it's not there," we said, in hushed voices. 

About five minutes later, another basket appeared, with barely a sight of the culprit.

Is this a joke?

My fiance' pushed it aside, where it hung out with the others.

Our meals finally came, and we had successfully avoided both baskets of bread.

Phew!

After our plates were cleared, I caught sight of something, out of the corner of my eye.
My fiance' noticed it, too.
It was being carried upon a tray, as if under a spotlight,
   and the music seemed to change, as it glided across the room.

We wondered which lucky soul it would land upon, when . . .

   "It's on the house," said our server, as he delicately placed it in front of us.

Two white and beautiful, perfectly round scoops of vanilla ice-cream,
   melting into one warm,
perfectly molded,
   soft and gooey serving of . . .

BREAD PUDDING

I wanted to yell, "TAKE IT BACK! YOU'VE MADE A MISTAKE! TAKE IT BACK!"

But, the tempation was more than we could bear.

Instead, we picked up our spoons.