With Appreciation and Sympathy

Though the sound of the wind from inside the house made me hesitate,
   the morning was calling to us (me, and the dogs).
Winter's playground was looking for a friend.
The sun shined brightly above the snow;
   sparkles of light upon the star of the show.

The beautiful, white landscape, with its lines and its curves, edgeless and never-ending.

The wind, more energizing than biting,
   blowing ripples across the water in the nearby pond.
The day, with all of its brightness and beauty, making me feel alive
   in the way that one should feel alive - full of energy and awareness,
appreciation and presence. 

And, in another part of the world, the star is burning.
Not in the way that sparkles and shines in the warmth of the sunlight on a winter's day,
   but in the heat of a life-threatening battle - a flame-scorching, take-no-prisoners, relentless and destructive, heart-wrenching fire.

Oh, how I wish I could send our blanket of snow your way, to sooth and ease your burns. 

The Gift of Silence

It was a beautiful, crisp, Autumn day, though it felt more like winter.
It was the first cold spell of the season, so I was bundled up more than usual.

The dogs and I were walking our normal, morning path.

We like to walk toward the back corner of the property, where the wire fence begins,
and a single tree sits. I am not sure what kind of tree, but it is beautifully shaped,
and has large, almost whimsical looking leaves that, come October, turn a golden shade of yellow. Now, midway into November, the leaves have long since fallen from the tree, exposing its bare branches.

On the other side of the fence is a cow pasture that spreads out, over rolling hills,
toward the horizon. On this day, as we were walking,
I noticed some movement in the field, far ahead. And, as my eyes focused in,
I saw that it was a deer, full-grown, running and leaping through the tall grasses,
as if her life depended on it. We were almost at the fence line,
and her path was a straight line toward us.

The dogs had not, yet, noticed, so I stopped, and stood as still as I could.

I was sure she would see us and change her direction, but she did not.
Seconds later, she, effortlessly, leaped over the cow fence, and flew past us so quickly,
and so silently, that even the dogs were caught off guard.

As the dogs let out their delayed responses of barks and growls, I stood there in awe.
I live in a place where I see deer almost daily,
but I had never witnessed one so close, moving so swiftly.

  And, the silence of it - wow.

Had my attention been drawn elsewhere, I would not have even noticed she was there.

I thought to myself, whatever happens with the rest of my day, I have this.

Nature is awesome.

Falling Leaves

Look up!

at the 
    falling leaves,
beautiful colors on a breeze.

Drifting and sailing, 
   dancing and floating,

gracefully landing . . . with ease.

Winter Canvas

Stark white, 
against the grays, 
   against the blues; 


the curve of the gravel road, 


the distant mountains, 
   painted with snow; 


branches - reaching; shadows -seeking.

Chatter in the Night

It always happens in the middle of the night.
Charlie noticed it, first, immediately bringing it to my attention by frantically walking all over my face. He is a small dog, but, nonetheless, it is somewhat disconcerting to wake up to.
I tried to ease his fear by putting my hand on his back,
telepathically sending him "calm vibes", but it didn't work. His entire body trembled.

This isn't going to go away, I thought. I am going to have to fix this. 

I fumbled around on the nightstand for my glasses, and gracelessly forced myself into a standing position. Now, both dogs were awake. Max, however, was completely unbothered by the annoying disturbance. Any time his people are moving about means the possibility of playtime or outside time - the two things he lives for.

Leaving the dogs in the bedroom, I began my search on the main level, slowly lurking from room to room. I cautiously listened upstairs, but the noise seemed to be moving further away. I made my way toward the basement. It was definitely coming from down there.
Finally, I found the culprit, and I stared it down.
Or, should I say "stared it up", as I was clearly staring at the ceiling.

You little SHIT, I thought to myself.

I went back upstairs and grabbed the stool, from the kitchen. Back into the bedroom, I went to the drawer in the hutch that contained batteries. I could not remember which type this particular problem required, so I gathered a bunch. Tools in hand, in my sock-covered feet, I marched back downstairs. I set my batteries on top of a dusty chair that was conveniently located within reach. I unfolded the (one and a half foot tall) stool, and stepped my (five foot, two and a half inch tall) frame on top. Arms, stretched above, there was still no way I was going to reach that thing.

Sigh.

I went back upstairs, and back into the bedroom. I hovered over Mike, willing him to wake up. Clearly, I needed to work on my telepathic skills.
I gave him a little poke, and said (in a pathetic, "I give up" kind of way),

"I need your help. I can't do this."

Apparently, he was already aware of the problem. I mean, I don't know how he couldn't have been, but the man can sleep through anything. He slowly stood up, without question.

"I have a stool, and batteries," I told him.

"We need a 9 volt," he said.

9 volt. Of course, I said to myself.

I went back to the hutch and was able to find one hiding out at the back of the drawer.
Mike, the dogs, and I went down to the basement to take care of the problem.
Five minutes later, we were all back in our beds. The problem had been resolved, Charlie was no longer walking all over my face, and there was silence. 

Until . . .  

"You realize," I said, "all of the other ones are going to start chirping, too."

"Huh?" Mike asked.

"The smoke alarms. Once one battery dies, they all die," I responded.

"Yep. Better replace them all, soon," he said.

"I'll buy more batteries, tomorrow," I said.

"Okay. Good night. I love you. No more talking," he said.

"Okay. Good night. I love you, too," I replied. 

And, there was no more chatter, in the night. 

Hearing the Quiet - Taking a Break from Facebook

I know, I know, lots of people do it.
And, it's not as if this is some profound statement/action that should be recognized as such.
I have, also, completed my first week of my six week exercise challenge -
   20 minutes of power walking, and at least 20 push-ups a day for 6 days, each week,
which is way more impressive than refraining from wasting away hours on a social network site. 

Anxiety is what led me to do it.

I did not realize how much Facebook was contributing to my anxiety, until I left it.
It has only been a week, and my brain feels so much more. . . quiet. 
And, when I have a thought worth sharing, I share it with my husband,
or with other tangibles in my life, instead of throwing it out there and seeing where it sticks.

The thing is, I always felt like I had a healthy relationship with Facebook.

For me, it was mostly a creative outlet -
   a place where I could post my daily photos, and random thoughts about life.
I tried to keep it light and fun, though I would occasionally slip up and let my emotions,
my personal, or my political beliefs get the best of me, which I would usually regret.
For the most part, though, if I enjoyed something, or if I saw humor, or beauty,
   if something made me think, or if I saw irony, or if I learned something,
or if there was something I was proud of, I would share it.

I enjoyed others who used Facebook in the same way. 

But, I increasingly saw lots of posts that made me feel much like I was reading through
   my old high school year book. I did not enjoy high school.
There were parts of it, and people whom I enjoyed, but in general, high school made me anxious.
I spent most of my teenage years in it, and yet, very little of it seemed REAL.
Much like how I started to feel about Facebook. 

I am under no illusions.

I have only been away for a short time, and though I am in no hurry,
   I know I will eventually return. Good, bad, or otherwise,
Facebook is the place where people communicate important information and events.
I missed one notification, already. Good thing I know people who are still on Facebook,
   with whom my only communication isn't through Facebook.

If I were on Facebook, today, I would probably post a photo, or a video
of the snow that is gently falling. It is a lazy, Sunday afternoon; even the dogs are napping.
I am doing some writing,
   everything is still, and. . . quiet. 

Unleashed

Don't let his expression fool you. He is lucky he is still alive. He is lucky he is so darn cute.

Yesterday, just as a fast moving storm was about to unleash upon the earth,
Charlie decided to chase my neighbor's car.

"Charlie!" I yelled.

"CHAR-LIE!!!" I yelled, again.

But, he did not listen.
He chased that Subaru, as if it was his last important mission.
I tried to chase after him, but I was wearing two-inch wedged flip flops,
and my feet kept falling off the edges of my shoes.

And, suddenly, it was POURING.

I decided to turn back toward the house.
The wind was blowing the rain sideways, and into my eyes, which made it difficult to see,
especially with contact lenses.
I tried to cover my eyes with my hands, but there was just SO MUCH RAIN.
My feet began slipping all over my shoes, so I took them off, but it hurt too much to walk on the sharp gravel, even with the buffer of the soft, thick mud.
I made it to the stairs, and as I began to walk up towards the front door,
Charlie blew past me.
He stood at the top, wagging his tail,
looking at me as if he had just experienced the adventure of a lifetime.

Wasn't that fun? Wasn't that fun? Wasn't that fun?

Can we go inside, now? Can we go inside, now?

I'm really wet! I'm really wet!

Completely soaked to the bone, hair, dripping wet, feet - covered in mud,
contact lenses,barely holding on to my eyes, and steam, coming out of my ears,
I opened the front door, where my 9 year-old stepson stood there, and said,

"OH, my GOD!!!"

Not sure if God, or anybody can save that dog, right now, I said to myself.

"Can you get me some towels?" I asked.

Like I said, good thing he's so darn cute.