Archive for the ‘Short Stories’ Category

Rubber boots and Mittens

I went for a hike today,

A dead hike mom would say.

“Everything is brown,

The colours all down

Not a time for hiking

And too late for biking

You should have done this a month ago.”

As you can guess,

I left mom for a rest,

And to my surprise,

The place was alive.

First I was spooked,

By a nesting goose,

As I followed a path

That circles her bath

Then further I crept

And a whitetaileddeer lept,

From her exposed graze

To a pine tree maze

I next took the track

To the maple syrup shack

Followed “frostbite ridge” trail

To a flock of wild quail

and stood still to listen

to the morning dew glisten.

I stooped low to investigate

What a bear or fox ate

And took a wrong path

When did that maple collapse?

It began to snow

The wet stuff, you know.

When I found the track back,

I was met by the cat

He hopped on 3 feet

To the house where we sleep

So we completed the loop

Lured by scents of soup

To find Mom in the snow

Waiting with hot cocoa.

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the beginning

Having recently read the Tao of Pooh and the Te of Piglet, I am pretty sure there is a part where the author ponders out loud, “…where to begin?” and Pooh innocently hints at what a strange question that is, because as far as he’s aware, there’s no where else to begin but the beginning.  Not really sure that helps much Pooh, but I’ll give it a shot and consider today the beginning.

I sit and listen to him speak.  Convincing me of some knowledge that he has.  That I do not.  True, I don’t know who the biggest exporter of tobacco is.  He does.  As does he in regards to many minor topics I note.  By habit, I feed his desire for expertise and ask “really?”.  Please don’t feed the bears.  In defense of his ego, he continues and in defense of my ego to earn a crumb of knowledge/power I feed him “including cigarettes?”, digging for the oh so diminishing “I don’t know”.  He effortlessly confirms, continuing on with even more knowledge than he knew he had.  When I come to the present moment of what’s happening, I remove myself from the dialogue.  Physically, mentally and obviously.  When the silence rests, and my ego has been stuffed into a dark hole and told “not a peep”, he contemplates his rant and retracts that it includes cigarettes, dismissing the idea that I even asked about them and that he had confirmed “yep”.  While I work to let go of a deep yearning to attack his weak argument, he, in secret, consults his guru on tobacco exporters, in a hopeful attempt to confirm his lecture, and if not, to devise a twist so that he still seems correct.  google: biggest tobacco exporter.  To his unease, he finds that in fact, my homeland the Netherlands, is not the biggest exporter of tobacco…”anymore”- his ego hiccups when confessing this to me.  With hopes of dropping a useless topic, but with every effort to do so seamlessly I respond with a closed lipped, oh-so-songful, “hmph”.

This later erupts into a complicated and tired argument/dialogue that would need to be recorded and decoded to even begin to write about.