I saw the devil today. Cloaked in finery and flattery words of multi colored deception. She knew the rules of engagement to woo the young soul towards her goals.
...
Wednesday, April 26, 2023
Tuesday, April 25, 2023
Elephants
...
Thursday, February 16, 2023
Love is...
Love is...
By MDJGussak
Love is a vassal surging in-and-out across the keystone.
It catapults deftly from yesterday to never.
Love is a Glaucous Winged Gull, it's loud, it's messy, flying away at the slightest startle.
For all its aches, love endures.
Somewhere....
Monday, December 26, 2022
Saturday, November 12, 2022
Where Life Takes You
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Around a corner, up a hill, and through some knee-deep snow. There never seems to be a shortage of bad corners ahead, yet they will ultimately become what you choose.
Every corner in the road is one that will lead you to the exact place you are meant to be standing. Stand on your footing firmly planted on solid ground, and take in the view along the way.
...
Saturday, October 1, 2022
Walter - A Narrative Poem
WALTER
By MDJGussak
By MDJGussak
There lurks an unkindness around Walter
as he boards the sternwheeler Nenana bound
for Fairbanks. Visible between the taffrails
a wicked shadow shivered bleeding from
the Tongass forest. Encouraging him with crimson
Devils Club berries, bitter with treachery. Grab-thieves
hungry for his belongings and breath. All Walter seeks
is a small grubstake for his own poke. Just a tiny shimmer,
a nugget to help pay his way. North to home,
and a sense of somewhere to belong. The Nenana
turned on its heels, STEER COURSE bellows
the crusty old salt, skyward in the helm. His voice
barely heard over the keow mew ha-ha,
of a scavenging group of Glaucous Winged Gulls.
Walter catches a glimpse of his reflection rippling
distorted in the wake. Scraggy unshaven face, sunken grey
skin, draped in tattered torn clothing, unrecognizable
as his mother’s son. Was he a gudgeon to travel this route?
There is time to ponder, to set fears at ease, to guard against
the perils. The journey home is long. Walter
checks the time on his pocket watch, confirming
the glow in the distance. He dissolves into a corner
on the back deck, turns up the collar of his coat,
and settles in for the first of many long restless nights.
...
Thursday, September 15, 2022
How do you say goodbye?
“I will say goodbye now,” he said. “In a day or two I shall be going away… I shall go back home. I do not think you will miss me.”
The children said good bye cheerfully, and thanked the Cook prettily for the beautiful Cake. Only little Tim took his hand and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”In the village there were in fact several families that did miss Alf for some time. A few of his friends, especially Smith and Harper, grieved at his going, and they kept the Hall gilded and painted in memory of Alf. Most people, however, were content. They had had him for a very long time and were not sorry to have a change. But old Nokes thumped his stick on the floor and said roundly: “He’s gone at last! And I’m glad for one I never liked him. He was artful. Too nimble, you might say” (Tolkien, 58-59).
...
Works Cited
Tolkien, J.R.R. Smith of Wotton Major and Farmer Giles of Ham. 12th ed. Ballantine Books. 1982
Saturday, September 10, 2022
Unsettled in the Lessness
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UNSETTLED IN THE LESSNESS by MDJGussak
Petal ponders her lot along the bluffs edge. Her unsettled heart made of clay and silt, dull shadowless empty of spirit. Owning no perspective, matching the water-sky that folds around her pointless in its purpose. Icy rain drops beat against her back like a drummer flogging a metal barrel. The rain swells shameless in their deaf goals, sobs unrequited. Her bones loosen from their layers. Lessness unsettles her resolve. Petal’s time has passed.
...
Saturday, August 20, 2022
Woven Hell
WOVEN HELL
by MDJGussak
Dogged souls
fresh at the gate
vying
raspberry
pleasures.
Harvesting bittersweet
under nightshade
ploughing
snowdrop
garments.
Seeded handbasket
together we ride
wagging
celestial
rewards.
...
Wednesday, August 3, 2022
Slipping
The miles slip past, Iceworm Gulch, Glitter Gulch, and then the vastness of the terrain opens up at Broad Pass. On a clear day we can spy Denali among the Western snowy peaks of the Alaska Range.
"Do you want to stop for a picture?" inquires my husband.
"Not this time, let's keep rolling."
We continue the drive south in quiet contemplation. This land is steeped in history, not to be found among the pages of texts but in the layers of bones that go unseen below the tundra. Frozen in time.
...
Sunday, July 17, 2022
Trails’ Calling
Trails' Calling by MDJGussak
“Now! Jump now!” shouts the skiff driver. “It’s now or never!” His voluminous voice rises above the breaking waves. Dani and I exchange brave grins, fasten our bundles over our shoulders, leap overboard and aim for the shallowest part of the shore. The stony beach shifts under our weight rocking us back and forth. We stumble in one direction, and scramble for balance in the other.
“Walter!” Dani yells at me over the surf. “You okay?”
“Yeah! You?”
“Think so brother! That was a ride and a half, two nickels to the fella who thinks they’d want to do that again!”
We gather our wits and glance around for the other five men from the skiff. They give every appearance to be as disoriented as we are but when one man feels compelled to lead, the rest of us will follow. We were told there is a path at the tree line that will lead us to a prospector camp at the edge of the village. The fella in the mustard color hat strides forward with confidence so we follow. Plotting our way through the woods the angry swelling waves fade into the distance making room for the rustling whispers of the trees. Turns out following mustard man was a good choice.
“Walter, I can’t believe you talked me into coming with you. If I’d known half of the toll it would take, I would have turned around in Seattle.”
“You say that now, but when we have a hefty poke full of that Yukon Gold, you’ll thank me for cajoling you to come along.”
Smirking sideways at me he replies, “Momma was none too happy when you left this time, what with taking her favorite son along with you!”
“Just because you’re the youngest doesn’t mean you’re the favorite.” But in truth all three of us knew he was Momma’s ducky little boy.
“Well, all I’m say’in is you best look out for my wellbeing or you’ll catch hell when you get home.”
“Stop your yapp’in and keep moving, I’d like to make it to camp before night fall.”
The woods began to thin, we could see the lanterns of camp, and the prospects of a meal. Hot or otherwise was of no consequence. If it was edible, I could eat! Dani normally had a delicate palate but I think he too would eat whatever was put before him with more gusto than polite company could overlook.
We were welcomed at the edge of camp by a pack of working dogs chained to short tethers in a clearing under the trees. Their fierce barking broke the quiet of the woods, and rattled what was left of my daily allotment of nerves. A man appeared from the shadows, barked back towards the dogs in a language I did not recognize but whatever he said they settled back down. Some of the dogs turned away from us while others watched the group of newcomers with a keen mischievous eye.
Slogging through the mucky trails that braided around the makeshift structures of camp Dani and I finally acquired our lodgings for the night. We were tired, famished and our water-logged boots spread their chill throughout, sucking away our remaining strength.
At the flap door of the wall tent we were greeted with the musty smell of moldy canvas, dirty socks and something that resembled food. There were four other fellas spread out about the tent and a fifth standing at a pot belly stove in the middle of the cramped room. He stirred the contents in a large kettle precariously placed on top of the stove. Putting the ill-fitting lid back on he turned in our direction, grinning like a darn fool who knew something we didn’t. “Any of you ever eaten moose before?”, he cackled like a gravely raven with a beak full of mischief. “Well come on over and grab yourself some stew before all the good bits settle to the bottom.” The other fellas bustled to the stove forgetting, in their hunger, if you didn’t bring your own tin cup to the table you weren’t going to be served. Most everything on this adventure is bring your own or likely go without. Learning from their misstep Dani and I quickly retrieved our cups from our packs and were soon slurping and chewing like a couple of wild animals.
We paid the owner of the wall tent his due for the meal and the use of his cots for the night. In short order Dani and I were sleeping the rest of the weary, forgetting all the troubles that might lay ahead, and those we had recently passed through.
Morning came with a belly ache something fierce. Not sure that moose agrees with me. I reach over to give Dani’s cot a good jostle. He replies with a pitiful groan. Glancing around the tent we are the only ones still here, the others must have felt an extra burning to get a head start. Perhaps Dani and I should get a move on too, before newcomers arrive to haggle for our cots. If they have more coins in their pockets, we’ll be left wanting a place to sleep.
The other fellas were kind enough to leave a kettle of water on the stove when they left, something hot might settle my stomach. You know you are in the middle of nowhere when a cup of hot water that carries a hint of flavor from last night’s meal is a treat.
“Come on Dani, we best get go’in!” This time there was no reply. A few short steps in his direction and it was apparent his face was flush with heat. “Lord, Dani! You’re burning up! Let’s get you out of that coat.” It was a bit of a struggle to get him free of his still damp and musty coat, like wrestling with a limp rag. “Come on Dani, you got’ta help me out. Dani? Can you hear me?” Giving his cheeks a few smacks, he seemed to rouse.
“Walter, I don’t feel so good.”
“Me neither Dani.” He shuttered, heaved, and his stomach let loose its contents. Over and over again. Dani vomits until the stench of bile and sour moose stew fills the tent. The retching finally subsided, his eyes glazed over, he went limp, short shallow breaths followed. “Dani, I’m going to find some water, hold tight, I’ll be right back.”
Outside camp was abuzz with chaos in every corner. Folks packing up carts, dogs barking, and men bickering over one thing or another. The only thing I desired at that moment was to find fresh water, and a means to Dani’s quick recovery. Slumped shoulders and wringing hands, my desperate appearance caught the attention of someone who helped me move Dani to the infirmary tent, and pointed me in the direction to fresh water with a nod. The path to the creek and I became familiar with each other in short order. Bucket after bucket of icy cold water is my task for some time. By mid-day there was nothing left in Dani but the dry heaves, fitful shaking, and a fire inside that kept his fever stoked.
Twilight crept into camp, and the bleak cloud of our circumstances weighed across my chest. Dani was weak and barely had anything to say all day. Tucking him in for the night and getting as comfortable as possible crouched between the wall and floor next to Dani’s cot, uneasy thoughts of what to do next swirl around me buzzing their fear and regret.
A cackling eerie noise off in the distance woke me from my fitful sleep. Perhaps it came from my dreams, or Dani’s weakened body. “Dani, how’re you feeling? Dani?” I scoop him up and give him a shake. “Dani?” There was no moment of clarity, no showing of farewell, he simply slipped away from my arms. Stillness surrounds us. Dani no long inhaled, and I was afraid to. With my next breath would come the realization that I was here and he was not. I cannot tell you how long we laid there, as I wept hushed tears over my baby brother.
A preacher fella came to camp from the village, took down Dani’s name, birth date, and hometown. He gave me a wooden cross to mark as I saw fit, and the directions to the cemetery. We have been thick as any two brothers could be, best of friends, and traveling companions. Now I have to leave him behind in this far-flung corner of land.
“Walter!” Dani yells at me over the surf. “You okay?”
“Yeah! You?”
“Think so brother! That was a ride and a half, two nickels to the fella who thinks they’d want to do that again!”
We gather our wits and glance around for the other five men from the skiff. They give every appearance to be as disoriented as we are but when one man feels compelled to lead, the rest of us will follow. We were told there is a path at the tree line that will lead us to a prospector camp at the edge of the village. The fella in the mustard color hat strides forward with confidence so we follow. Plotting our way through the woods the angry swelling waves fade into the distance making room for the rustling whispers of the trees. Turns out following mustard man was a good choice.
“Walter, I can’t believe you talked me into coming with you. If I’d known half of the toll it would take, I would have turned around in Seattle.”
“You say that now, but when we have a hefty poke full of that Yukon Gold, you’ll thank me for cajoling you to come along.”
Smirking sideways at me he replies, “Momma was none too happy when you left this time, what with taking her favorite son along with you!”
“Just because you’re the youngest doesn’t mean you’re the favorite.” But in truth all three of us knew he was Momma’s ducky little boy.
“Well, all I’m say’in is you best look out for my wellbeing or you’ll catch hell when you get home.”
“Stop your yapp’in and keep moving, I’d like to make it to camp before night fall.”
The woods began to thin, we could see the lanterns of camp, and the prospects of a meal. Hot or otherwise was of no consequence. If it was edible, I could eat! Dani normally had a delicate palate but I think he too would eat whatever was put before him with more gusto than polite company could overlook.
We were welcomed at the edge of camp by a pack of working dogs chained to short tethers in a clearing under the trees. Their fierce barking broke the quiet of the woods, and rattled what was left of my daily allotment of nerves. A man appeared from the shadows, barked back towards the dogs in a language I did not recognize but whatever he said they settled back down. Some of the dogs turned away from us while others watched the group of newcomers with a keen mischievous eye.
Slogging through the mucky trails that braided around the makeshift structures of camp Dani and I finally acquired our lodgings for the night. We were tired, famished and our water-logged boots spread their chill throughout, sucking away our remaining strength.
At the flap door of the wall tent we were greeted with the musty smell of moldy canvas, dirty socks and something that resembled food. There were four other fellas spread out about the tent and a fifth standing at a pot belly stove in the middle of the cramped room. He stirred the contents in a large kettle precariously placed on top of the stove. Putting the ill-fitting lid back on he turned in our direction, grinning like a darn fool who knew something we didn’t. “Any of you ever eaten moose before?”, he cackled like a gravely raven with a beak full of mischief. “Well come on over and grab yourself some stew before all the good bits settle to the bottom.” The other fellas bustled to the stove forgetting, in their hunger, if you didn’t bring your own tin cup to the table you weren’t going to be served. Most everything on this adventure is bring your own or likely go without. Learning from their misstep Dani and I quickly retrieved our cups from our packs and were soon slurping and chewing like a couple of wild animals.
We paid the owner of the wall tent his due for the meal and the use of his cots for the night. In short order Dani and I were sleeping the rest of the weary, forgetting all the troubles that might lay ahead, and those we had recently passed through.
Morning came with a belly ache something fierce. Not sure that moose agrees with me. I reach over to give Dani’s cot a good jostle. He replies with a pitiful groan. Glancing around the tent we are the only ones still here, the others must have felt an extra burning to get a head start. Perhaps Dani and I should get a move on too, before newcomers arrive to haggle for our cots. If they have more coins in their pockets, we’ll be left wanting a place to sleep.
The other fellas were kind enough to leave a kettle of water on the stove when they left, something hot might settle my stomach. You know you are in the middle of nowhere when a cup of hot water that carries a hint of flavor from last night’s meal is a treat.
“Come on Dani, we best get go’in!” This time there was no reply. A few short steps in his direction and it was apparent his face was flush with heat. “Lord, Dani! You’re burning up! Let’s get you out of that coat.” It was a bit of a struggle to get him free of his still damp and musty coat, like wrestling with a limp rag. “Come on Dani, you got’ta help me out. Dani? Can you hear me?” Giving his cheeks a few smacks, he seemed to rouse.
“Walter, I don’t feel so good.”
“Me neither Dani.” He shuttered, heaved, and his stomach let loose its contents. Over and over again. Dani vomits until the stench of bile and sour moose stew fills the tent. The retching finally subsided, his eyes glazed over, he went limp, short shallow breaths followed. “Dani, I’m going to find some water, hold tight, I’ll be right back.”
Outside camp was abuzz with chaos in every corner. Folks packing up carts, dogs barking, and men bickering over one thing or another. The only thing I desired at that moment was to find fresh water, and a means to Dani’s quick recovery. Slumped shoulders and wringing hands, my desperate appearance caught the attention of someone who helped me move Dani to the infirmary tent, and pointed me in the direction to fresh water with a nod. The path to the creek and I became familiar with each other in short order. Bucket after bucket of icy cold water is my task for some time. By mid-day there was nothing left in Dani but the dry heaves, fitful shaking, and a fire inside that kept his fever stoked.
Twilight crept into camp, and the bleak cloud of our circumstances weighed across my chest. Dani was weak and barely had anything to say all day. Tucking him in for the night and getting as comfortable as possible crouched between the wall and floor next to Dani’s cot, uneasy thoughts of what to do next swirl around me buzzing their fear and regret.
A cackling eerie noise off in the distance woke me from my fitful sleep. Perhaps it came from my dreams, or Dani’s weakened body. “Dani, how’re you feeling? Dani?” I scoop him up and give him a shake. “Dani?” There was no moment of clarity, no showing of farewell, he simply slipped away from my arms. Stillness surrounds us. Dani no long inhaled, and I was afraid to. With my next breath would come the realization that I was here and he was not. I cannot tell you how long we laid there, as I wept hushed tears over my baby brother.
A preacher fella came to camp from the village, took down Dani’s name, birth date, and hometown. He gave me a wooden cross to mark as I saw fit, and the directions to the cemetery. We have been thick as any two brothers could be, best of friends, and traveling companions. Now I have to leave him behind in this far-flung corner of land.
My dearest Sister, September 17, 1897
Greetings from Alaska. We finally made it to Dyea and I am waiting for news of when the next sternwheeler loaded with men and supplies will make it to camp. With this shipment of supplies will come my ride home. Dani died last night. Retching and fever something awful. They say there is a cemetery not far from here where I can lay him to rest. Regrets flood me, I should have never cajoled him into coming on this foolhardy journey with me. Momma was right this time. With luck I will arrive home before this letter reaches you. If you can, please hold this on the inside, I’ll break the news to Momma myself. No need for you to take the burden I rightfully deserve. If this letter arrives before me, give me a month to follow, after that it would be best to let Momma know about Dani. Sorry to put you in this predicament. God’s grace I arrive before this letter.
Your loving Brother,
Walter
Walter
***
Sunday, May 22, 2022
Summer's Arrival
It has been a long while between posts. Life's daily chores have been getting in the way of blogging. Plus, summer has arrived in Anchor-town spreading glory and green. Enjoy summer in your neck of the woods, and thanks for stopping by this corner of the inter-webs.
...
Wednesday, March 23, 2022
Clarence
Clarence was quite possibly the worst vacuum cleaner salesman in Greene County Iowa. I am not going to say “in all of Greene County” because frankly Greene County is not that big. When you look at a map of the United States and zero in on Iowa you might think to yourself, “Isn’t everyone who lives here a farmer?” Iowa is after all known for its corn production, right? Well Clarence wasn’t much of a farmer either, plus he preferred to be one of those “city folks.” Being a city folk meant you did a job during the day and had the evenings and weekends to do as you pleased. And what pleased Clarence most was fishing.
During the day Clarence traveled the dusty county roads that connected each farm. Meandering around a few pastures filled with grazing Holsteins, this area of Iowa had its share of dairy framers but mostly his view was row upon row of corn fields. They were mesmerizing really, those perfectly planted rows flickering in rhythm to the passing sunlight. At each farmers driveway, he would break his thoughts away from the hypnotic corn, and head up the lane. He would park in the yard at a spot closest to the house. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Iowa term for yard, this is the large gravel area that was surrounded by the barn, the machine shed and the well house. At the edge of the yard there was always a worn path to the house, sometimes this path was stone, sometimes, if you were one of those fancy farmers you had a concrete walkway from the yard to the house. No one ever thought of parking on the lawn.
Heaving a heavy sigh Clarence opened the car door, then closed it with a thud, hoping to alert the Mrs. of his arrival. Swinging around to the trunk of his Ford Fleetline Special Deluxe, that he had purchased used some years back, he retrieved the object he’d hoped would bring him his daily bread. A shiny new olive drab Electrolux AF canister vacuum, the latest model in cleaning efficiency. He only needed two more sales this month to stay in good standing with the company and possibly earn a good word from the regional manager. Not that he cared much about status, it was the free time he sought most. Time to be in his boat trolling along Spring Lake hoping for a largemouth bass to also take the bait, and be able to reel in a tasty supper to go along with the sale.
Vacuum cleaner in hand with a box filled with attachments under his arm, and the hose wrapped around his shoulders, he rang the bell. It took a few moments for the Mrs., to answer the door, and he could hear the commotion of the children tussling about inside. When the door was finally opened with a friendly greeting, Clarence put on a smile and started his spiel. He was only a few moments into describing the amazing features of the Electrolux AF when it began to be apparent that this family, while in need of a nice vacuum to assist the Mrs. with the house chores, could not afford to purchase what he was selling.
Clarence lowered his shoulders, smiled kindly at the Mrs. and told her he could see she had her hands full. He let her know that he would leave the vacuum cleaner here for the day or two so that she could try it out on her own time. He said he would be back by tomorrow or the next day to pick it up. Saying his farewells, he ambled back to his Ford. Clarence could sell a person a rusty tool if he knew the person had the money to buy it but it was his kind heart that kept him from being a good vacuum cleaner salesman.
During the day Clarence traveled the dusty county roads that connected each farm. Meandering around a few pastures filled with grazing Holsteins, this area of Iowa had its share of dairy framers but mostly his view was row upon row of corn fields. They were mesmerizing really, those perfectly planted rows flickering in rhythm to the passing sunlight. At each farmers driveway, he would break his thoughts away from the hypnotic corn, and head up the lane. He would park in the yard at a spot closest to the house. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Iowa term for yard, this is the large gravel area that was surrounded by the barn, the machine shed and the well house. At the edge of the yard there was always a worn path to the house, sometimes this path was stone, sometimes, if you were one of those fancy farmers you had a concrete walkway from the yard to the house. No one ever thought of parking on the lawn.
Heaving a heavy sigh Clarence opened the car door, then closed it with a thud, hoping to alert the Mrs. of his arrival. Swinging around to the trunk of his Ford Fleetline Special Deluxe, that he had purchased used some years back, he retrieved the object he’d hoped would bring him his daily bread. A shiny new olive drab Electrolux AF canister vacuum, the latest model in cleaning efficiency. He only needed two more sales this month to stay in good standing with the company and possibly earn a good word from the regional manager. Not that he cared much about status, it was the free time he sought most. Time to be in his boat trolling along Spring Lake hoping for a largemouth bass to also take the bait, and be able to reel in a tasty supper to go along with the sale.
Vacuum cleaner in hand with a box filled with attachments under his arm, and the hose wrapped around his shoulders, he rang the bell. It took a few moments for the Mrs., to answer the door, and he could hear the commotion of the children tussling about inside. When the door was finally opened with a friendly greeting, Clarence put on a smile and started his spiel. He was only a few moments into describing the amazing features of the Electrolux AF when it began to be apparent that this family, while in need of a nice vacuum to assist the Mrs. with the house chores, could not afford to purchase what he was selling.
Clarence lowered his shoulders, smiled kindly at the Mrs. and told her he could see she had her hands full. He let her know that he would leave the vacuum cleaner here for the day or two so that she could try it out on her own time. He said he would be back by tomorrow or the next day to pick it up. Saying his farewells, he ambled back to his Ford. Clarence could sell a person a rusty tool if he knew the person had the money to buy it but it was his kind heart that kept him from being a good vacuum cleaner salesman.
...
Tuesday, March 15, 2022
Rocketing
...
Wednesday, March 9, 2022
Trampled
The lure of riches led men in droves to Dyea Alaska and the glacially sculpted valley of Chilkoot Pass. This land, long stewarded by the Tlingit people, where for thousands of years the ice gnashed its way down the mountain peaks, and the chattering streams carried old bones to the sea, encountered an unsalt-worthy horde. The rush of human feet, beasts of burden, and canine companions, crushed the earth to an unrecognizable mush. Flags of unfamiliar laundry flew among the branches of the forest. Streams bent and twisted out of their custom. Even under the protective cloak of snow Chilkoot Pass could not withstand the trampling unscarred. The Klondike Gold Rush lasted but a few short years, and to this day the land is tainted with physical reminders of greed. To this day the hearts of the Tlingit people carry the ache of this wound.
...
Tuesday, February 15, 2022
Nuthatch Calls
lavage the pits of your soul
refine your moral compass.
Hold strong your gifts
fortitude is not lost
only buried.
Rest your weary heart
in the stone-walled garden
for the Red-breasted Nuthatch calls.
...
Tuesday, February 1, 2022
Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
...
Friday, December 3, 2021
Friday, November 19, 2021
68 Miles ~ Sunrise
The sun rose over the low lying roof tops of the squatty town, nestled between fields of soy beans, corn, and wind burdened tree lines. A feelings of loneliness and dread encompassed the hotel room. Dingy. Damp. Over grown with misuse and abusive words.
I slept well enough between scratchy sheets and a lumpy pillow, and the shower last night was passable for warm. Yet, the loss lingers. Loss of a friendship, loss of a traveling companion. Loss of trust in a person you thought held your heart. The truth of the end has no resolution. Not even daylight can crack the code of why.
...
Tuesday, November 16, 2021
Do you hear it?
Do you here it? That sound? The sound of choice, of freedom, of life outside the confines of the walls that suffocate.
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