A Peppy Little Sonnet About the Snow

A day full of promise, hope, and new-fallen snow

I snap into my bindings, and downhill I go

Cruising down the mountain, music in my ears

Right there in my element, outrunning my fears

From a path out of site, comes a skier behind

Think I'll ride down beside him. Don't think he will mind

For a day or forever, our paths curved as one

Cutting, each complimenting as the other one spun

But the skier, his interest, it dwindled a bit

From his inattention -a crash, and from it my board split

So I sit in the snow on this beautiful day

But my riding partner is skiing away

My source of locomotion is gone now, kaput

And which pain is the greater, my heart or my foot?

Paging Sparky

If you're out there, and you read this. Please email: phoenixlove137@gmail.com

"Writing Again" From Seanan McGuire's Cover of We're About 9

I just wanted to leave you this

One last note in your window
Before you disappear
I wanted to concatenate

The paper with the pen
With the hand that you left here
I wanted to show you
That I'm still breathing
I wanted to show you
My fingers still bend
I wanted to thank you for giving me something
To be all bitter about
It's good to be writing again

And I didn't want to wallow
So I'm writing a peppy
Little sonnet about the snow
And I think you would like it
And I guess that's what I really miss

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

Oops, I didn't mean to get all heavy
I mean, really, I am doing just fine
When I look at your picture
You are foreign to me
You are practically out of my mind
And this is the season, I thought, for all summer
And this is the reason I emptied my mind
On to pieces of paper that don't hold the answers
Just clear-headed questions
And the memories
Of warmer times

And I've sworn off of lovers
But I've adopted a cat
With paws the color of snow
And I think you would like her
And I guess that's what I really miss

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

So, here it goes this is my letter
To tell you the truth, I can't tell if I'm better
I've been thinking about the way most
Things are difficult to open and easier to close

But closure isn't something hat you get with a person
It's a plan interrupted by snow
Or a division of property

I gain that. You gain this.

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

I wanted to tell you
That I'm still
Breathing
I wanted to show you
My fingers
Still bend
I wanted to thank you
For giving me something
To be all bitter about
It's good to be writing again
It's good to be writing again

A New Decade

I find myself comtemplating what works for me, and what doesn't. I seem to view my life through the lens of Romantic Comedies...the good ones, anyway. I'm in some version of "Sweet Home Alabama," where I've left my roots and Southern friends, and now, I've come back to the South, only to be bitchy and disrespectful to the folks here. Of course, that ignores the fact that, here, I'm surrounded by bigots and selfish voters who care more for their own pocket change than for the lives of their fellows.

The future that I long for is direct from "The Family Stone," a holiday surrounded by children and grandchildren, with all that entails. That dream ignores the expense of Massachusetts living and the greater expense of having children.

The middle of the story is missing, but one thing is certain to me. It's not here. I'll be leaving South Carolina this summer. The path is set. Time to get ready for it!