who knows how or why what we plan when young seldom is where we end up

who knows how or why what we plan when young seldom is where we end up

sadness descending sometimes cold fog enwraps me sometimes a warm shawl

In appreciation
of
and gratitude to
those who have served to keep
freedom alive
for the next generation
“I can’t draw,” you say.
Drawing is just lines.
Line up your lines
until they look like
what you see
in your mind.

“I can’t write,” you say.
Writing is just lines.
Line up your words
until they say
what your thoughts
have in mind.

“I can’t dance,” you say.
Dancing is just lines.
Lines of movement
drawn with your body
until they portray
what you feel
in your soul.

“I can’t” is just a line
we tell ourselves
when we’re afraid.

ponds of consciousness run deeper than flitting streams thought ripples take time




I was having some windows installed in my home last week, and one of the construction crew members, while walking through my living room, stopped and pointed to the wall behind me.
“What’s that?” he asked in a way that made me wonder if someone had perhaps snuck in a boar’s head and mounted it on my unsuspecting wall. I turned to look. Oh, that.
“It’s a dulcimer,” I told him, and proceeded to answer his questions about the instrument. Where it originated, what type of music one played on it, etc.
“Wow!” He continued to stare at it with that boar’s-head-on-the-wall type of fascination. “That’s a real conversation piece!”
This week’s Daily Press photo challenge asks, “What’s mundane yet meaningful to you? What’s a beautiful everyday thing?”
I guess my dulcimer would fall into that category. I think it’s beautiful. It does carry special meaning for me. And yet – to me – it has become rather “mundane.” I see it hanging on my wall each day. I dust it occasionally (okay, rarely). And very rarely, I take it down and actually try to play the darn thing.
It’s interesting to think about how the term “mundane” is such a personal concept. It’s quite possible that I could walk into that construction worker’s home and see a boar’s head hanging on his wall. My reaction would likely be, “What’s that?” and he would reply, “Oh, that’s Reggie. Or what’s left of the little tyke. He was one helluva pig.”
So if you’re looking through the other entries to the photo challenge and you come across a picture of a boar’s head mounted on a wall, it’s probably a photo of Reggie that my construction worker posted on his blog.
I just hope my construction worker is as good at installing windows as he is at photography, blogging, taming wild boars, and taxidermy.
Wow! He’s a busy guy! I guess it’s no wonder he never found time to take up the dulcimer.
Weekly Photo Challenge: (Extra)ordinary

The doors opened with a swish
and the dance began.
People exiting the train, others entering the train,
and many just shifting side to side
to allow for the ebb and flow.
I tucked your fingers under my arm as we alit,
and began threading my way across the platform
of the underground U-Bahn station.
Midway up the steps to street level,
I shivered as a blast of cold air swept by,
and I reached for you instinctively,
seeking your warmth to shield me from the wind.
You were gone.
Fearing the worst, I descended the stairs,
pushing against the tide of bodies
headed upward to the street.
I reached the platform and I saw you.
My suspicions were confirmed.
In the throng, you had slipped away,
and now you were heading hurriedly
in the opposite direction.
And in the arms of another.
My heart sank.
I wanted to go after you,
to claim you as my own,
but I knew that even if I managed to catch up to you,
I wouldn’t know what to say.
I don’t blame you.
I had taken you for granted,
thinking you would always be with me.
I was so, so wrong.
And so I let you go.
In sadness I turned away,
and retraced my steps out of the U-Bahn station
and onto the cold street.
If only, I thought…
if only I spoke better German
I would have called out to the other woman,
told her you were mine.
Told her how much I needed you,
How much you meant to me.
But I did none of that,
for fear of making a fool of myself.
I will miss you.
You were the warmest pair of gloves I’ve ever owned.
WordPress Writing 201, Assignment Eight: elegy.