25 Dec 96//CHRISTMAS CALM
*full night descended and the day retreating with tired smiles and still-bouncing childhood,
redolent of cinnamon and molasses and the rosemaried turkey... house overwarm from cooking,
candles, close upon me 'til moving out onto the porch - with coffee mug in hand and apron still
tied around my waist - I sit....and spy the magicked molten moon, full and heavy and a burnished
gold, hanging low upon the Christmas sky....hearing the video'd dialogue in the background, and
the echoing blare of Evie's new walkman, but sinking into the quieting peace of such a night....
and musing there, upon the steps and watched over by the moon's buttered fullness, filled with
roaming, random thoughts as the holiday proceeds inside....remembering the year just past and all
the Christmases marching back to childhood....more alone this year - family scattered, friends
spread across the world - but more in touch, I think, than I've ever been before...
and the simple calm of Christmas, the spirit of the day, filling me with gratitude - not for the gifts
nor for the food - but for the connectedness, the depth, the hope that marches into the years
ahead*
21 Dec 96//BIRTHDAY INTROSPECTIONS
*cold mist drifting over naked face, back steps hard, unyielding...dampness biting through to
sweatpantsed derriere...the night so black it seems to eat the light, swallowing moistured-haloed
streetlights and dimming the misted flickerings of holiday lights strung here and there....the
clouds a dampening cotton-batted blanket, muffling sound and shrouding senses, heavy,
weighted, feeling as if they will open at any moment in a deluged torrent....*
It's funny how a birthday celebrated alone feels unlike a birthday...more a solemn, introspective
event...unliking it, reaching out for some form of contact to find none there...a spark of
conversation here and there but no real content, drifting unanchored through the anniversary of
my birth. Those I would want to spend the time with far away, and occupied, or forgetful of the
day...and feeling as if what should be some type of milestone is simply a day of little
import. "Little import" - funny how two simple words so completely sum up the remaining hours
of this natal day....uncelebrated, unremarked, alone. And wondering why, despite the telephoned,
messaged and internetted attentions of a small handful of those I love, I still feel so alone.
Perhaps the lack of physical contact, the spark of laughing eyes or chuckled jocularity....
and so I sit, chilled, alone, pondering all that has gone before, all that is in me now...as the night
deepens and the rain begins to truly fall.
15 Dec 96//CANDLEGLOW
Leaning back on soft-cushioned couch, the clock slowly ticking its
relentless way past 2 am...the party done and guests all gone, and quiet
softly settling around me like an ethered blanket, but for the sound of
carols gently sung from hidden speakers....lit by tiny Christmas lights
and tiered candles all about, candleglowed, sated with food and drink and
the simple joy of sharing... wishing more than anything that you could
have been here...to laugh and touch and be, to feel the peace and the
soft wanting which holds me tight inside right now....
High heels kicked off and stockinged feet perched upon the heavy oaken table,
slouching, burrowing into the cradling cushions, head resting on the sofa back
and hands still holding a half-full glass of the most amazing brandy...and
having to smile, having to acknowledge the thought of wanting
you here....
Until arising, glass yet in hand and high-heeled shoes dangling from my fingertips
I move across the room, puffing lightly out the candles, wicks smoking, guttering
as they are extinguished one by one, vanilla and bayberry and rosied spice scents
wafting upon the heated currents, filling nose and senses already pricked to full
awareness...and leaving on the tiny lights, sparkling, filling the room with dim
radiance, turning to check the doors and latch the windows...moving towards the
back of the house and sleep and thoughts of you...remembering, wishing, dreaming...
11 Dec 96//VALIDATION
Gifted today beyond belief, a djinn appearing to me, talking of how touched
they were upon reading my words....emotion-charged and open, vulnerable, feeling
what I felt as I wrote of love and loss.....and cracking my heart wide open
that I should so touch another person.....that they would weep along with me in the
recounting of a tale....that they could feel and sense and touch the inner me just
through the words...and wanting so badly to reach out, to touch, to thank them for
their gift....their precious sharing...
...a simple thing, this reaching out, this validation of effort and of emotion...
but comforting and so very special, to know I touch, and am touched in turn......
8 Dec 96//PREPARATIONS
The holidays arrived in force this weekend, the boxes dragged from closeted hiding places,
shrouds of crumpled newpaper nested `round their secret contents, plucked aside and treasures
once again revealed, red velvet ribbons spooled from waiting cubbies, pantries raided, judged,
found lacking... space cleared, shelves put into seasonal disordered readiness (to be, I know, put
back to ordered space within a month), extension cords sought and light strands tested...yesterday
the inside of the house arrayed, nutcrackers here, figurines there, and which wreath goes upon
which door decided yet again in the annual search for "just what's right"....the lighted garlands
strung above the windows and the oaken shelves...candlesticks polished to a brightened luster
and filled with newly scented holdings, ivory and green and vibrant red for the dining table,
white linen cloths bleached and ironed waiting for the setting of the table....the boxes ransacked
for Santa'd knick-knacks, angelic choirs preserved in bubbled plastic drawn forth to grace first
one shelf and then another....the simple wooden Nativity erected by loving childish hands, Evie
begging to be allowed to place the infant within the tiny wooden creche....
...and today as full again as yesterday...greenery wreaths beribboned with bright red velvet placed
upon each window and garland strung across the porchline roof, about the door...a simple
smallish artificial tree set outside the door, embellished only with glittering and softly glowing
white tiny lights, porch columns candy-caned with wide velvet bindings, brilliant red against the
stark white...
and that chore done, the tackling of the holiday candy-making.......heavy sugared syrup
boiled to hard crack consistency, then coloring and flavored oils added, foaming, steaming,
bubbling up to pot's edge in a vain attempt to escape its confines...clouds of cinnamon fumes
raging through the house, horehound scented steam biting in the nose and assaulting unguarded
eyes, and childish laughter heard at the transformation of plain uncolored syrup into what will be
hard candy...syrup poured into waiting pans to cool and harden, and then to be struck by
cloth-wrapped hammers, breaking into shards of stained-glass confections...
...the traditions once again observed, the season once again commenced, with all the fullness of
belief and understanding, and the simple unspoken knowledge of the continuance, the cycling, of
it all......
1 Dec 96//WINTERSTORM
A day of sleeting coldness, bitter slanting rain sheeting against a world gone grey...warm breath
puffed from coffee-warmed lips cloudy on the colder wintry air....sitting sheltered, wrapped in
fleece and cable-knit, on front porch stoop, roofed overhang shielding worst of stormswept wet
and wind....pine boughs dancing wildly on the wings of winter, leaves battered - dancing- to lie
sodden, wracked upon the frosted earth, as the greying twilight deepens, and the winds rise to
whip the branches and moan amidst the treeline, crying, howling in its windswept rush along the
earth...wind shifting, blowing icy-needled drops into shrinking face and form, a winter deluge
chilling me and sending me back into the recesses of the porch....old oak rocker - weatherworn
and time-warped - a cradled refuge from the storm, sturdy wooden arms wrapped `round me in an
anchoring embrace.........storm sweeping to crescendo'd climax, a mad rush of sound and fury,
pulling the breath from a body vibrating with the furious energy pouring all around...
and rocking there in time to the sway and rush of rain and winter's wind, watching the storm sink
and disappear into twilighted haze, `til darkness fully falls and the storm's reduced to only sound,
pounding, pouring, rushing, beating against a quiet solitary form, huddled in the winter's
darkness, sitting there, seeing the storm with only ears...............
28 Nov 96//THANKFUL
Frost-chilled night, the carillion of a nearby church softly ringing its Westminister chimes as the
belfry peals 1 am, just a brief hour past the close of the national day of thanks......huddled tight
inside the shielded, cradling folds of woolen blanket pulled from borrowed bed, children and
adults all gone to sleep sated with a day of food and fun and fellowship... and me - sitting out
upon the wooden deck lit only by the softly glowing moon, shining through the white-boled
hollies and the shredded, feathered trunks of birch, bare feet pulled up off ice-cold wood and
tucked underneath the envelopment of simple cotton shift, bamboo lounge chair tucked into a
protected corner of the deck.....face and hands peeking out of shrouding warmth, exposed to what
the nearby thermometer says is 22 degrees, the night clear and crisply cold, air freshening a soft
and sleepy body and prodding at a tired mind sedated by one too many pieces of pumpkin pie and
the beguiling warmth of the hot cider held in cupping hands....
Soft smile drifting over me at the remembered thoughts of all for which I'm truly thankful.....the
connectedness of family, sister, parents, cousins.....sharing bonds of love and entwined histories
and the knowledge of its continuance down the futured years....the sight of my daughters sweet
inside my mind, Megan approaching womanhood defiantly, yet gently uncertain...solid in her
belief of self and proud already of who and what she is and will yet become, and innocently
beautiful with her pale skin and thick, heavy hair and softly shaded eyes - the daughter of my
mind.........Evie, stolid in persona, unmindful, unheeding, unafraid, singleminded in her childish
pursuits and in her childhood pleasures, laughing with me at the ants scurrying within the grassy
lawn or amazingly delighted in the flight of butterflies, energy personified, curly hair wild as the
laughter which erupts unbidden from her childish lips or the tightness of the hugs she so
unexpectedly bestows...the daughter of my passion....
Thankful for the friends who have filled my life with love and laughter and staunch support,
caring for me even when I cared not, could not, for myself, sharing all the joys and tears,
opening their lives and hearts up unto me and letting me see their sorrows and
happiness.... providing a depth, a textured richness to the fabric of my life....and for the lovers
who have made my heart weep both in the fullness of delight and in the shattered stillness of
love's death....... thankful still for all the sharings.....
Thankful for the person that I see within myself....the quiet strengths and tiny frailties, the
"human-ness" of self and the still-living hopes and dreams, that I can still love and feel and care,
not block myself from pain or risk, but open fully to all their lessons... resolute in simply being
"me"....
and so very thankful for the beauty that surrounds me.....the glitter of heaven-bound stars and the
fire of the moon, the simple smell of woodsmoke drifting on night air....the song of night-feeding
birds and the mournful hoot of a nearby owl....for the simple knowledge of how wonderful the
dawn will be, the golden sun to rise and bathe the face of night-chased earth in limned and
warming rays....and for the start of yet another promised day.......
24 Nov 96//MOONGLOW
There is something almost magical about a harvest moon, hanging darkly golden in the cold Fall
night, shadow-splayed and cratered surface seeming close enough to touch...floating, buoyed on a
field of stars each brighter, twinkling, sparking the nighttime ether with minute points of celestial
fire, and fronted by the glowing orb of Luna...silky, darkly silent night enveloping, holding me in
phantom arms.......laying on the lawn, facing the blackest corner of the large backyard, the scent
of pine straw and cold-frosted grass rising from under shoulders burrowing into the thatch and
the old denim workjacket that my Poppa left me...the heavens unfolded above me, the moon
seemingly within arms' reach and childishly opening arms as if to embrace it....smiling at the
sight of carmined fingertips silhouetted against the softly glowing globe, juxtaposed against the
reaching palms, held ethereal in the minded eye....
...and watching breath puffed out cloudlike against the cold Fall night, drifting, rising towards the
moon which shines down, simply, quietly from the ethered void....
16 Nov 96//BURNING TIMES
The yard a shambles with strewn and fallen pine straw, layered thickly underfoot and cushioning
step and sound...deep honey and soft brown, the dead remnants, still fragrant, of once greener life
now dried and brittle upon the ground....and grabbing rake and wheeling barrow around the yard,
stopping to rake up mounds and piles of the straw, then spreading work-gloved hands widely
across the gathered debris, lifting the rakeful into the waiting bin, then stooping once again to
repeat the fall-time ritual......sweat beading under heavy-braided auburn hair and slickly coating
leather-gloved fingers, runnels of the salty liquid sliding across warming skin....air chilly on
exposed flesh, the contrast marked by flushing throat and face...
There is an old wives' tale in the South, that the thicker the carpet of fallen pine needles the
worse the winter is expected to be; THIS winter looks to be particularly ominous if the
pine straw harvest is any indicator....
Wheeling the cart load to the burning site in the backyard, stacking fallen limbs and branches and
straw and then returning to the raking....working steadily as the afternoon progresses, raking
some piles around the standing pine trees and azalea bushes, preparatory for Spring's eventual
progress.....until the last of it is raked and collected and deposited....the match lit at sundown,
crackling flames rushing through the stacked straw and debris, merrily burning in the fading
twilight, pungent with the smell of Fall and pine...flames dancing, leaping into the deepening
night, "firebugs" (what the children in my family have always called the airborne sparks) wafting
too and fro on heated ethered currents...fire warm, then slowly heating to hot against my face,
caught between the slowly chilling air and the roaring conflagration, woodsmoke drifting, sliding
over face and form, now shrouding me and then the yard, then dancing up into the night...
and sitting beside the fire, coffee cup in hand and waiting garden hose fizzing its armed and
dripping load at my feet.....staring into the flames as the colors shift from gold to blue to red to
purple....and idly forking another pile of straw into the waiting fire, stirring the pile and seeing
embers glowing white hot at the base, smoke circling, scenting me with Autumn's own
perfume...
10 Nov 96//RIOTOUS HUES
Golden sunlight streaming through violently colored autumn foliage, riotous, blazing in all their
hues...rust and yellow, crimson and sienna and gold and pale lemon, dark glossy green butted up
against ocher and vermillion ...the roadways, yards and horizons vibrant with Autumn's rainbow,
oaks and hollies, hickories and dogwoods, pecan trees and the fading gold of dying grapevines all
jumbled in a splash of sensory delight...colors so bright it seems you should be able to
smell them...the air rich and crisp, a clarity of fall-borne chill striking deep inside the mind and
body...delighting soul and soothing thought.
Fading day limning the foliage with a strong warming light, touching limbs and leaves and eyes
with a sensous golden glow, drawing each into solitary detail and washing the whole with fall's
breath, the light somehow clearer, somehow more distinct as it slants from lowering horizon,
leaves dancing on late afternoon breezes, shaking their colors in a dizzying shimmy of shifting
hues, dancing tints, spinning on fragile stems and shaking on sturdy wood-rough boughs...
Sitting spellbound by the display splashed against wondering eyes, smiling softly as the colors
dance and sway, marking yet another season's passing...another year of life tied up by Autumn's
colors, and pressed and pasted in the scrapbooks of my memory
