Knock knock...Winter who?

Throw back beautiful wrapped appetizers of pig belly and yard bird livers,

Gobble through grizzly thick thigh skin,

Munch about mounds of fluffy cream mashers,

While gelatinous berry goo and pies of gourds greet greedy tongues.

Stupid stories we teach our young about Pilgrims and Indians show up on cardboard cutouts with brass pins at the movable joints.

Thanksgiving: a pleasant distraction on the way to another awful winter.

Many boxes and cans full of the past

We are, like babies, mostly eating, sleeping and purging with moments of cooperation to ensure that we can continue to eat, sleep and purge.
When the cooperation breaks down, we loose sleep, make bad food choices and get constipated.
Let's get along while we slumber and strip our food of it's usefulness and purge.

Wishes

Cashing bloated checks every day drawn from the bank of the earth, I am resposible for thousands of deaths.

Compost me.

When payment comes due and the ecology collections come collecting please do not bury me so boxed and so deep.

I owe. Compost me.

Turn me back to the givers from whom I have taken. I may end up a tree branch riding down a roiling river or a gnat, in your face.

I may stink for a while, best to drop me away from people. Compost me.

That I may not rob the earth. Compost me.

Cat on a cold concrete drive

Moaning at the door where all of life had passed, the grey striped feline heard me and darted in my direction. Through the dark, wind and cold it rushed at me with such fearlessness it caused me to wonder if I was being wise, standing with my morning oats to investigate what the racket was all about. It ran into my legs and rubbed there for awhile, continuing its mournful plea.

I cut some leftover beef and filled a bowl with water but the cat was gone, just like the neighbors who left it there.

When I howl at the doors of opportunity I pray that the gumption fires stay lit until after the beef is cut. Lately it seems that the urge to fold overwhelms the steady efforts to stay at the door, but here I am again at the steps from which I know, deep down, all the good in life comes.

In good company

Solitude owes it's warmth to the fires of our loved ones.

Surrounded by soft, sweet angels swirled in storms of passion raising white waves of tiny hells and opening their souls for someone to touch the hurt and make it go away.

I have been witness to electric loves passing and burning the evil veneer so we can see our Heavens.

Alone I am blessed by the fires of our loved ones.

Make it and love it

Probably no one will ever care as much as yourself about what you create.

If people do care more than you about what you create, they become the bane of your existence.

Nurture and care for what you make, and realize others are doing the same.

Not so much

Our bed is spun ninety degrees clockwise, our heads (when in bed) headed West and now face North. Our heads, that is.

Wardrobes once in closets now hang from the walls in the very same room that holds the rotated resting rectangle. Jackets, skirts, shirts and pants hang on rails from North to South waiting for their chance to be a flag.

A big six-drawer mirrored dresser faces the same way in our rearranged bedroom but continues looking West from the South end of the room. The giant mirror reflects totally different places while greatly similar happenings routinely happen.

Attacking the life sized puzzle put dog steps at the South end of the end of the bed and we've all managed, a bit dizzy at times, but not so much that we vomit.