It Snowed

snowflake

It snowed this morning.

With its whipped grey sky
I remember fragile flakes
resting on his silken black fur,
heavy breath rising to
mix with the day’s offering.

I welcome blessings
of sky and land, heartbeat
and smiles. I walk on
ice slick sidewalk and
remember flakes alight
on my outstretched palm,
for just a pause,
before their exsistence
fades and I am left
gaping, ready to receive
once more.

Fog

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He sniffs the damp fence post, a reveal of who came before.
Deciding all is well, he leaves his mark
and we continue on.
Fog sneaks in behind us, a foreshadowing of storm.
We will not venture out into early morning falling flakes,
only because I fear ice that lays waiting to surprise,
A turn of seasons offers its own perspective,
leaving its mark for me to decipher.

 

My Heart

My heart is my secret weapon.

No one knows, only I.

I know how to pull back the bowstring, just right, not to far, and not too loose. Then let go. Let it go and do as it will. Ascend into the air and fall where it must. That’s the important part – plan and let go. Let the arrow do it’s job.

It was an odd day. It was the Day of The Snow Eclipse. No one invited it. It just happened. An unwelcome visitor ending festivities minutes after completion, too soon.

I pulled out a shawl I tucked away in case, always in case, it is needed. I wrapped it around to warm my shoulders.  It’s magenta of the softest wool spun by hand and knit with intention. Each stitch pulled and tied with meaning, hope for outcome. Yet leaving the wearer to do as they will.

The crowd dispersed quickly as the dry flakes floated to their rest. Really, a quick melt. The days had been warm, so a long life was not in their cards. A party of white would have to wait for the days to come.

I packed my cards and small table, cloth and electric candles into the petite suitcase that had been carried by my grandmother a century ago with its precious cargo nestled inside. Now, it was electric candles instead of beeswax because today’s weather brings little rain and only dry snow. It was a labor of love as I placed each ancestral piece into its own spot carved out of foam covered with silk cloth.

With a click, a lock secured the broken clasp that no longer held itself together, time having worn it down to indifference.

I stood, handle firmly gripped as I lifted what shouldn’t be heavy, yet it always was at the end of a long day of reading and inquiry. Straightening my back and taking a step forward, my booted foot caught the fringe of my skirt and I felt myself in free fall. You know the one, when time seems to stop and you tell yourself that you are falling, as if you didn’t know. And you fall with nothing to catch yourself, tumbling over the small suitcase, and one more time just for assurance’s sake.

It’s not so bad when one is all alone. In the dark and quiet and the words can flow with ease.

Before I could take a breath, I heard a snicker.

Great. Someone saw my graceful tango with fringe, boot, and suitcase.

Unable to untangle myself, I didn’t turn around or hold back to see the origin of the annoyance.

“So don’t why don’t you make yourself useful and…”

Before I could finish, a leather gloved hand, graceful but strong offered itself. Green leather, a bronze patina. Small swirls edged into it with a delicate finesse.

“And so I shall,” a gentle voice flowed over me.

Oh, yes. I forget too easily about my secret weapon.

Thankfully, the honeyed scent from the arm now balancing me,

reminded me,

reminded me,

remind me…

 

Author’s Note:

Today we met to write. My first line chosen at random was : My heart is my secret weapon.

The words to include: eclipse, invited, minutes, sincker, magaenta, colleague, ascend, and labor. I think I only missed “colleague.”

 

 

 

 

Dog

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There is something holy
about the three of us
here in bed together,
a clouded sky at
snow’s first settling.

When you came to us
we were only two,
you made three,
a sacred number.

As you press against me
your gentle breathing
silky coat
a comfort to my day,
I am guarded from
that which diminishes
that which matters less.

A ternary,
we sleep.
Woman, man, and dog.

Patience

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Day Twenty-Eight

Snow Tree3.jpg

 

 

In spring flowers are to bloom,
buds to burst with life,
sun to warm ground
awakening that which slumbers.

Here snow aligns itself along
reaching limbs, arcing to ground
in acceptance of something that
cannot be controlled, bending in
accommodation, knowing softness
is cardinal and warmth retraces
its steps.

I pause for season to shift, for
sun or snow to answer. I bow
to you, and rest avowed
in transformation.

 

 

Author’s Note:

A spring snow and Beltane in our lovely and mischievious Colorado is my prompt today.