Memories

How often we think of
things past, like the
milk man who drove his
horse and buggy
down my street in
Chicago or the time
my friend got bit
by a cheetah.

Our lives seem to
accumulate
these events
some educational,
some fun,
and some we'd give anything
to erase from our memory bank.

Are we this
volume of stories
that fill our
minds and hearts,
or are we here, now,
listening to our
inner voice and
looking out the window
noticing every incident
that shaped every branch,
every bent browning blade
of grass, and every dent
in the cars and trucks
passing on the road?

Conflict

The world seems
to teeter-totter
between "what's the weather"
and "when will the war end."

I've often imagined what
the weather might be if
it was fixed by legislation.
Could we all agree on the
ideal weather, and, if so,
would we waiver a week later
and ask for rain, or fog, or even
a blizzard to help the sale of
firewood.

On the war issue,
it is interesting
we continue to engage in war
irrespective of the data
that millions die in such endeavors.
Are we kept in uniform believing
that it will be the other guy,
or the other guy's son,
that will die?

Wars don't just take place
in war zones.
Everyday we see them
at work, at play, and in the home.
Resolving these minuscule wars
can be as challenging
as diverting WWWIII.

"Is it warming up any out there,"
she asked as I came in with my
hat in one hand and my scarf
in the other."

The Second Hand

The second hand,
on my electric clock,
patiently moves around and around,
every minute,
every day,
every month,
and every year.

He takes just a little energy
to do his duty, and,
like Sisyphus, never complains,
despite his boring task.

I suppose he makes the minute hand move,
which in turn makes the hour hand move.
This wouldn't amount to much
but these movements determine
when we work,
when we eat,
when we play,
and when we sleep.

If I was a second hand
I'd take frequent naps when no one was looking,
and then speed up at dawn
to get to where I am supposed to be.

Late Afternoon

My house is shading the snow
on the east. The dogs have
made numerous tracks during the
past few days, and the 40˚ sun
has done is best to shape the
snow by melting her edges.

It is about time for the dogs
to be fed, so they remind me
to make sure they are still on
my radar. I quietly say "food"
and they leap off the porch
to devour their dried pellets.

Looking north, I see shadows
as tall as their trees.
The branches are slow dancing
from enough of a breeze to
make the wind chimes play.

Our parakeet is discussing
the weather with his mirror.
It is an animated discussion
with some disagreement.

The dust bunnies commensurate
one another in anticipation
of the holiday preparatory vacuuming.
Realizing that their destiny
is to become one with the
inside of a dust bag is more than
most of them can stand, so they latch
on to one of the dogs hoping to be
taken outside in their quest for
immortality.

Now, later, the breeze is gone and
only one ray passes
through the tree from
the setting sun. At a second
glance, even it is dimming to
become a gentle apparition.

Changes

I've been noticing
that every day is
different from the last.

What I didn't realize
is that every moment is
different from the next, something
that every photographer should know.

Early this morning,
it was foggy, cold, and overcast,
with a little warmth in
the eastern sky.

Later in the morning,
the sun was shining,
casting sharp shadows
on the snow and buildings.
Yesterday the sun
was shining as well,
but the shadows
were nowhere as distinct.

If we change as rapidly
as these moments,
then finding ourselves
can only be an
impermanent accomplishment.

Sun

Nothing seems brighter
than the sun on a fresh
sheet of snow.

The warmth of the sun
seduces me until my
hands and feet get cold
from the coolness of the
blue white snow.

The blue white light foreshadows
the forthcoming darkness
from the shortened day.

The melting snow suggests that
spring is here

until a cool gust warns me
that I am barely at
the beginning of
winter's wrath.

Snow Today

It is a quiet snow.
In the morning,
it seemed brighter
through the curtains
but I couldn't be
sure if there was snow
until I glanced out the window.

The dogs forgot how slippery snow
is and skidded
as they jumped down the
stairs to see if any rabbits
were out and about.

Glancing at the snow
covering the fall leaves,
I sit at the table
wondering if this
beautiful blanket of crystals
is the work of natural forces,
or that of some very special
intelligent being.