Posts Tagged ‘writing’

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.


thought bubbles: A glimpse into the Internal Dialogue of a Thinker

I observe my mother like our cat watches the automatic vacuum cleaner that my parents own. Completely detached and curious, yet slightly frightened and confused.  Why is it bouncing from one wall to the other, disturbing everything in its path just to reach the wall and bounce off again, on another linear path.  It’s not that my mother makes a mid-frequency humming sound and walks into walls – at least, it hasn’t come to that.  However, it is her addiction to bouncing from one “to-do” item to the next, and if you get in her way, or don’t help as is expected, beware….

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.