Mr. A. Snowman

Bouldered endless snow covered the land
which wore a blanket of patchy white,
alone out here or there or where.

Yet, I

Watched a speck approach to figure,
off grey and pointed my way
it danced and grew and shifted.

Yet, I

Could not help but stop and stare
at this mystery twinkling down,
from across our plane of winter.

Yet, I

Noticed as it grew and neared,
it was not running but rather raging
a link from then to me right now.

Yet, I

Couldn't find the thought to flee,
held frozen by its nearing form,
dumb as details shot up like fur.

Yet, I

Flared my eyes as it ran me past,
and held a breath as it waltzed right over,
and I always will look back and think
if it could truly be what it was or when.

7-Up

I pride myself on not letting things get to me emotionally.  Letting things roll off my shoulders has always came easily.  With that being said, if something does manage to worm through my defenses, it is very difficult to remove that thing from the front of my mind and concentrate on something unrelated.  My job, or rather the attitudes of the people that I work with, keep me up some nights (like last night) exhaling heavily out my nostrils (in the bad way).  Here is me trying to step over this unnecessary life poop and focus on something else.

Memory and our senses hold a very powerful bond with each other.  Whenever you take in any sort of stimulus, whether it be through your skin, nose, or whatever, your mind will autonomously scroll through its databanks and fire off memories of instances where similar stimuli were involved.  I've recently caught whiffs of perfume that instantly bring to mind a girlfriend from the fifth grade that has not been thought about in over a decade and a half.  There she stands in my mind clear as day, down to the yellow jelly bracelet and glittered flower patch on the knee of her jeans.  I didn't plan on this memory, nor did I necessarily want it, it just happens thanks to the power of shared association.   Sometimes I like to think that all the electrical impulses and synapses firing in our heads are not unlike a herd of wild stallions made from an organic-electricity sweeping across the planes of grey matter that make of the folds of our brain.  They run wild and go where they want, tending to return to pastures where they had once grazed before.  We can try and herd them one way or another, but at the end of the day they do what they want.

So... whenever I take a drink of 7-Up I always think back to my childhood.  I'm sitting in the nurse's office of Radley Elementary School.  In an effort to make myself look as pale as possible I am breathing as slowly and shallow as possible, almost suffocating myself.  My mom comes in and signs some papers.  She is dressed for work with a tan blazer and matching skirt, blue eye shadow and a gold necklace too.  She looks at me with a look that is part disappointment and part "I understand."  We get into her white mini-van and swing by the IGA to grab a 2-Liter of 7-Up.  The rest of my day (or two days if I play my cards right) will be spent drinking the soda out of a big pitcher with a lid and noisy crinkle straw while I sit on my banana chair and play Nintendo.  I'm not sick.  I'm just overdue for a day off.

Emperor Duck

It seems he has moved his empire south,
gone is he from my daily walk.

Cat tails and baby coots,
the bread crumbs they would stalk.

Twice the size and creamy grey,
unique among his buoyant flock.

Will he be back again next year,
to quack and shit and squawk?

I'll just have to wait till spring,
to see which duck controls the block.

Frost (First)

Tiny symmetrical ice mazes have descended by the millions of millions onto the city of Missoula this morning.  They have undoubtedly worked their way in through my car's air intake, flowed through the vents, found that one break in the seal only they know about and covered the inside of my windshield with a thin layer of annoying frost.  Nothing is safe.  Every discernible blade of grass I can see out my window moans and pleads to have the insulating blanket of snow cover up its frigid pain until spring.
"Let's get on with it," they all are saying.  "If its gonna be frost it might as well be two feet of snow."
The mountains of Lolo south of Missoula aren't even visible.  A frosty mist is busy eating away at them like a plague of locusts.  This has created a diminishing effect in my neighborhood.  Two blocks are as far as I can see.

Its as if the world got smaller and tougher to live in.

Its as if the frost wants us to slow down.

Boulder Bound

Family time is some of the weirdest and most cherished for me these days.

Occupy Serengeti

A large group of gazelles have gathered in a makeshift community around the local watering hole to protest the injustices of the system they are forced to live in.  Picket signs with "End the Circle of Life" and "Prey for our Survival" speckle the  dry grasslands surrounding the oasis.  A spokesgazelle said that the movement is aimed at restoring freedom for the 99% of wildlife in the Serengeti, to end the oppression that predators have over prey.  "The eco-system cannot be reformed, it must be overthrown," they said.  "Why must the lions and cheetahs be given claws and fangs?  Why must we run for our very lives?"  Currently, no lions were present for a response.

Nearby, a baboon sits in an acacia tree and watches the commotion.  He is not impressed.

Deuteranopic Fall

I have a condition.  It is a medical condition and it is called deuteranopia.  It has been with me since birth, and affects me every second of every day.  Most of the time it doesn't register, having grown accustomed to its effects.  Sometimes though, like on a sunny autumn day like today, it sits perched on the top of my brain like a dragon on its horde.

It is a day that seems so ripe with seasonal change, like a big cold sponge saturated with 'fall' got wiped across the city.  I could feel it while I was in the shower, before I even looked outside.  The window was open and let it all pour in, cold dry air mixing with hot steam.  It got me thinking of the seasons, it got me thinking of leaves.

Out the door and on my way to the store, I pass the two maple trees that stand guard outside my apartment building.  They are getting ready for winter.  Their leaves are changing color from green to what could be red or orange.  I don't know exactly what green is, or red, or orange, but I do know this is happening.  This is my deuteranopia at work.  I'm color blind.  I don't see the leaves as green in the summer, nor do I see them as whatever color they may be today.  I know the leaves are green in summer, and I know they are not green today.  Knowing the difference comes from education, not experience.  There is a difference.

Looking at the leaves and concentrating on what it looks like, I decide that though I can't see the color change, I can hear it.  The way the leaves gently shake sounds more brittle, just like the air.  A spring breeze is like a child dashing out of a porch door to go play, where as a fall breeze is more of an old woman settling tighter into a blanket.

Yep, an orange leaf sounds different than a green leaf.  Not for the first time in my life, I've heard color instead of seen it.

My Coffee Break with God

I do not consider myself a religious man.  I've been to church enough times to know that dinosaurs are real.  I believe in Afterlife and I believe in Beforelife, and they are both very similar.  I believe that this 'Science' stuff has got something going for it, something like three thousand years of merit and discovery.  I also believe in certain fundamentals of Nature that we as human beings will never be able to explain, intricacies that we shouldn't try to.

So as my coffee pot gags and wheezes out the last drops of this morning's brew, a 14 hour work day waiting just outside my apartment door, I grab the coffee cup that rests in front the others.  I'm not thinking of dinosaurs or angels, I'm thinking of onions and tomatoes.  The coffee cup reads:

Lord,
I know
that no matter
what happens today,
You and I
can handle it together
Amen.

I've drank coffee from this mug (its not mine) hundreds of times before.  I know what it says, I know what all the coffee mugs in my apartment say, and I don't take them very seriously.

For some reason today though, I couldn't agree more.

It has begun!

Thanks to Mitch for picking at me to write, and for directing me in a blogward direction.

I can already tell this will be a fruitful endeavor.