At Dusk They Pour From The Sky

The writing agreement that inspired my last post has continued on, with today being the fourth 100 word story my new writing friend and I have shared with each other. We've expanded the definition of 100 words to be '100 words + the words from the chosen line', so it's now 100 words more or less.

This week's line was 'At dusk they pour from the sky'. Those words are the beginning of the novel 'All The Light We Cannot See', a beautifully rendered tale about the horrors and atrocities that occurred during World War II.

I wrote four different stories from this line. The one I shared with my writing friend was different from the words below. All of them were etched with darkness, perhaps the fact of the war seeped into my subconscious as I wrote. Perhaps it was the increasingly dark nights that accompany winter. Or perhaps it's just that I lean towards the darkness with much of my writing. Likely a combination of all three. Make of it what you will.

*~*

At dusk they pour from the sky. Cruel, cheerless drops that slice through skin and soul like

unwashed memories of black guilt. I push on. Trudging through the luckless mud, my brain

gone numb from bitter chill. 

I’m thankful for it. The cold. I use it to pretend, I can forget the truth. Shuffling deeper into

gloom, I’m careful to keep my eyes cast down, attempting to dissuade the whispers from

ripping out my heart.

Futile. 

For I see them always, the nightmares. Those broken stars, their cleaved screams,

never cease. Nights of blood are my destiny. Dawn will come, with it death.

I shall never escape. 

~*~*~

....I'll post something cheerier next time...

...Isn't it Pretty To Think So

Last Sunday, I spoke with someone about writing and we entered into an agreement with one another - to each write a story in only 100 words, with the last of them being '...isn't it pretty to think so'. And then on Friday night, while struggling to come up with something - anything; I glanced over and saw a drawing that caused my mind to trip over itself with glee. This is the result...

~*~*~*~

Between the seconds of midnight meeting twilight they gather ‘round a copse of trees no human has realized. 

Branches twist, dripping sapphire.  Dandelion carpets drift around wishes and diamond. Candles carved with the moon’s tears shimmer - dreamily hopeful. Red mushrooms giggle as the silver moss stretches infinite arms across the forgotten, fallen table that glitters berries, twinkles nuts, and unravels fitful fiddleheads. 

They have gathered - Fox, Faery, Owl and Stag to feast and share their joy, their wistful secrets. To celebrate life.

You say I speak false? That I know only lies? 

Maybe...perhaps…but...isn’t it pretty to think so.

*~*~*




*

12 Years

I was a bit of a mess yesterday. I usually am a bit off the last week of October, as memories of my dad and last few days of his life blossom up in the forefront of my mind. This year though, his absence feels sharper and it turned my (already not so organized) thoughts into chaos. I have a few notions as to why this is so, but want that picture to become clearer to me before I speak of it to anyone else. I know I'm not alone in this. Everyone who's lost some one they loves, lives the rest of their life inside a tidal wave of grief. It ebbs, then returns, then ebbs again. It's a brutal form of beauty, but so is the rest of life, really.

Yesterday was not pleasant; it was tidal wave masquerading as a tsunami. But today the salt and sting of it's waters ebbed and I felt peace. I hiked between gold sunbeams and ancient trees; I heard the wind singing it's symphony; saw fall leaves engaging in their favorite dance. I turned 'round a corner an came face to face with a Barred Owl; I leaned back on my heels, soaking up it's silent mystery, it's unparalleled elegance. Marveled at how lucky I was to have seen it, that it let me see it. Today I walked through the forest and felt thankful. I know that would have made my dad happy.

He's been gone for 12 years now. This, below, is not really a poem, not really an essay. Just a collection of a few random reminiscences, mostly good ones. 12 years is a long time, but I will always remember him. 

~*~

Some days the memories just slam into you

A runaway train refusing to stop…

Learning a David’s screwdriver, isn’t a real thing

Just something made up because it’d be funny

A sci-fi trade paperback, a surprise gift before a camp trip

The handing over of a thin silver, washer with a random

awe filled comment on it’s beauty, simplicity

A hand built bed, and swing set and dog sled

Sharing the biggest cinnamon roll I’ve ever seen

Late summer and two weeks spent living off of Pasta-roni and foosball and the movie Rat Race

The explanations of math problems, which I promptly forgot

The examples of knots that now evade me

The discussion of truck types, surprisingly still remembered

Watching 2 Fast 2 Furious when I turned 16, a mad search through the theater isles

For a rolling tube of chapstick

Christmas morning – cheese mice – a look of utter disbelief

A golf game when I was 6 and the golf cart I was allowed to drive

And years later when we argued over the stick shift I didn’t want to drive

Giving gallons of whole milk as a gift, because he was impossible to shop for

Tasting cheesy eggs for the first time on an early childhood fishing trip

Lattes from Blondies, at least one a day, buying me one if I'd drive to get his

5 lb bag upon 5 lb bag of Good & Plenty and Peanut M&M’s

Observing, in our Park City garage, a deer being skinned

It’s small antlers resting on my desk for years after

Listening crazy story of how, on a different trip, years and years before

The truck burst into flames and setting the Wyoming hillside ablaze

Dip netting in the frigid waters of the Kenai,
the excitement over blizzards at the Soldotna Dairy Queen
the day he walked into a Taco Bell and ordered a Frosty, and the look on the poor girls face as she hesitantly suggested he was in the wrong restaurant

The many, many toy construction vehicles that lined the desk of each office

And the even more plentiful pictures of us that filled those same spaces
hearing someone say they never saw someone with so many pictures of their kinds in their office

Building a model of the Pekin drawbridge out of popsicle sticks for a school project, he was definitely more excited about that than I was

The mention, while hiking through the sweltering Arizona desert,  

that after a winter spent working on the frozen iron of the new Pekin bridge,

he would never complain of heat again…

…A few train tracks of memories, so many thousands more…

I can still hear his voice, if I think really hard

I still listen for the shriek of his summoning whistle

His nicknames for me are stitched into the fabric of my heart

The words ‘Follow Your Bliss’ echo through my soul.

I miss you dad. So much. i love you.

~*~*~

Faery Poem

It's been a few weeks since I've shared any writing; and many, many months since I've warned you of faeries. So here you are, enjoy ... and be careful of the shadows that call to you at night...

*~*

Some faeries are all light and song

and with them nothing will go wrong

But others dance with blackened souls

and laugh when fire bites your toes

  

So be wary if one night

a faery beckons with delight

For should you follow, should you go

you might never make it home

~*~*~

Moment of Gratitude

Today I had to get a crown. Not the sparkly, royal kind; no, this was of the dental variety. I've been nervous about it for weeks, though I'm not quite sure why. Fear of the unknown I guess. Now it's behind me. I'm sure you will find this shocking, but it was not my most favorite of experiences. However, neither was it terrible. I've had many worse moments, days. A few hours later, I can't open my mouth too wide before it erupts with painful anger, but a couple Ibuprofin tablets has temporarily calmed the raging. And I am so grateful.

Grateful that I made it to now before I ever needed a crown. Grateful I have insurance to pay half the cost. Grateful that I don't live in a time where most people had lost all their teeth by my age (Fun Fact: did you know Queen Elizabeth I brushed her teeth with sugar). That our human minds have developed the knowledge needed to keep our teeth, and treat tooth pain & decay. That other human minds have created the technological tools needed to perform each and every thing dentists, and their wonderful employees, do. It's amazing really.

I normally fall on the side of 'we humans are terrible, we are destroying the planet'. I normally focus wholly on the awe inspiring workings the ocean, the trees, the other animals inside our vast kingdom of a world. But today, I am choosing to also revel in the wonders that lie inside the mystery of the human brain, and the magnificent ability of ours to CREATE.

~*~*~

Where I Am From

'Where I am From' 

I am from the wintery mountains of Alaska

the fields of fireweed spread beneath the midnight sun

I am from the excited howl of huskies on New Years Day
and rainy days spent picking blueberries in the misty hills of Hatcher's Pass

I am from long family road trips with my nose dipped inside books

the soothing sound of Harry Potter being read out loud

I am from Trixie Belden and Animorphs and the Babysitters Club

and nights dreaming up stories beneath the stars

I am from hot coffee, smoky campfires, a cat's graceful purr

the quivering anticipation of thunder's boom

I am from the bottomless black of the owl's eyes

and the mystery of whale flukes disappearing beneath the waves

I am from waterfall visions and early dawn thoughts
the faery magic that hides just beyond the trees
I am from the tornadoed doom of impossible wishes
and the quiet dragon fire biding it's time inside my heart

~*~*~



Where are you from?

Reflections

One Year; 365 days. That's how long it has been since I first drove across Bellingham's borders. A lot has changed, nothing has changed, such is the way of things.

I can safely say I love Bellingham. Perhaps not the town so much, but the land. On weekends, after a few lazy hours of coffee and reading and cat snuggles, I seek out the woods, the mountains, the lakes. I have yet to find a hiking trail or footpath that doesn't fill me with wonder, that doesn't end with me trudging back to my car hours later feeling vibrant, rich with rejuvenation.

I do occasionally venture away from nature. Now and then I treat myself to a movie at the local Pickford Theater or Limelight Cinema. I've begun volunteering at the local Mount Baker Theater – ushering - just 1-2 events a month. It's a nice way to experience the culture around me, and I get to enjoy part (if not all of) of the shows I work for free. I've checked out a book club at the local Village Books bookstore, and might be starting a new one with some co-workers. I am trying to become better about seeking new experiences, new moments, savoring them as one does when they walk along a winter beach picking up soft, smooth sea stones to turn around and hold in their hands. 

Of course nothing is perfect, and many of my past worries have followed me here. I do not think they will ever truly fade. My most persistent and vicious fears have to do money. Someone told me once my anxiety over money is much greater than most peoples. I have a hard time understanding that, but then isn’t that how anxiety normally works? Finding an affordable, cat-friendly apartment has proved impossible so far, so I am still living in the same place. Since I have stayed so long, my landlady has given me another small break in the rent. It’s still not as little as I’d like, but I’m not losing money each month, nor saving. I’m breaking even. 

I am learning how to wind my worries around a core of gratefulness. I am most successful at this in the mornings, when I wake to Faelina purring in my arms and then sit up to a view that never fails to stun me. It doesn't matter if I am greeted with pure blue skies, or misty pearls shimmering over the islands, or pure, total gray, it is always beautiful. Birds are everywhere. Eagles and seagulls and crows soar past the window. Cormorants by the hundreds line the old, abandoned structures of the bay. I’ve seen herons, and ducks of all varieties, and a pair of mating ospreys guarding their nest. In the winter- a lone Loon balancing atop the waves and then diving repeatedly under them. Every now and then a seal bobs cheerfully past. Close to the house, there are sparrows and starlings and hummingbirds – usually Anna’s - in the yard. This past summer has brought dozens of bunnies, and both Faelina and I have enjoyed observing as they dart to and fro across the yard, pretend to attack each other, then nibble carelessly along the grass. And I still love the trains that rumble by, perpetual travelers, shouting promises of adventure.

My job is decent, and I am glad to have found it, that it has allowed me to stay in Bellingham. That being said it doesn't tie in what I am most passionate about. The environment, women's rights, ending the persistent and systemic racism that still exists in our country, helping the thousands of people around the world who are really, truly suffering...it tackles none of that. And it doesn't make me feel truly alive, not like I do when I am creating something that before only existed in the invisible worlds around us. I am in the process of questioning myself, about why I'm not striving more towards the those things, and just how long I can continue not to. 

 And of course, no matter how thrilled I am to be living where I do, I am shredded every second by my longing for home. The fact that I am not there to see my nephews and niece grow is a fact that is harder to make peace with each passing day. I said here once, that I would forever hate myself for choosing Washington over them, and that is true. I deal with that guilt and inner hatred always.

But life is a balance.

Last night I went walking around Lake Padden. The sky was thick with the cool wetness that accompanies a day of hard rain. Those gray drops had passed hours before though, giving way to a pale, comforting blue light. The wind was quiet, lake waters calm. Families wrapped up a day of swimming, runners darted past finally free from days chained to their desk, children laughed delightedly between playgrounds, and out on the docks lone fishers stood, reeling in their lines as a horizon would the setting sun. The towering trees were soothing, their vibrant moss cloaks magical. I watched a silent Heron through a leafy frame, it's peaceful spirit rippling in the air around it. Chickadees flittered gaily between pine needled branches, chattering all the while. A Brown Creeper skittered and spiraled around a tree. And, after months of searching into to the farthest corners of the tallest trees, I stumbled into a Pileated Woodpecker intently searching for food on a short tree stump a mere 15 feet away. In a life rife with imperfections, last evening I walked into a rare, perfect moment.

I am lucky, I am stumbling, I am sometimes miserable, I am sometimes glowing. I am growing. I am grateful. I am scared. I am breathing. I have no clue what I am doing. I am learning to be ok with that. A year from now I might still be in Bellingham. Or tomorrow I might wake and realize I can no longer ignore the beckoning trains. Time will tell; I'll keep you posted.

~*~*~

Poem for a Good Day

My day in poem form. It's not such a good poem (or picture), but it was a good day, which is more important. 

~*~

Osprey standing guard against the waves

A few strands of white sitting sharp amongst the brown

Age is only time dancing

A mountain startled by the sun

Herons floating towards a crescent moon

Pink and periwinkle skies

Serenaded by the songs of everything

~*~

Trails of Fire

It's been awhile since I shared some creative writing, so I figured I'd post this. It was born out of real life; however, whether it was an event I experienced, or something that happened to someone I know, or was inspired by a passerby or poster on the street...well, I'll leave that up to you. Love it, hate it, make of it what you will.

~*~*~

The butterflies of worry are skipping rope, and time is dangling from an ever-shrinking road. Nerves and the jittery expectation that something will go wrong, give way to the devastating acceptance that it has. The sinking swirl of these bitter emotions seem to hold sway over the air itself, for as seconds slip away too fast for time, the clouds remember they have held too long, the tears so many of us refuse to let show. They let them all fall then, cloaked in the costume of rain; quiet screams sent to kill the ground.

Then comes fear. A cold, wormy possibility that it has all been for naught, a wasted courage. That the joyful anticipation that’s being singing to you for months was really only cruel apparition. Time turns from a quiet roar to a full out scream, and you dash up - fall sideways - zig when you should have skipped - turn around and around in a sacred circle you didn’t even know you were in. A reprieve…but it’s brief and mixed with a vicious angst and song, almost negating it’s numbing balm of relief. Still, you can’t help but let yourself feel embraced by the sweet blur of brown and blue and calm responsibility that no longer rests entirely on your shoulders.And hope, always hope. 

But time has now almost reached that uncrossable line.

So run girl, run girl, run girl, fly. Float above the crowd. Take that wind sending magic through your hair and use it to give you the speed to push those heels – flip, pip, flipping – along the pavement into a flying soar. Move up that hill on legs that know nothing of impossibility, let your eyes gleam in the golden light of your goal so close before you. One brief barrier and at last you are through....

and stepping into a labyrinthine world of chaos and jewels and vaudevillian delights. Lights flicker and glow and shine. Every delight prickling along your skin. Screaming, laughter, painted minds, faces twisted into anathemas of sadness. Souls drawn inexplicably towards a firestorm of reality and art - an icon of magnificence. A phoenix who has called out each of our names, and we have all come running, dancing in on her trails of fire.

~*~*~

A Letter to My Niece

Little Harlow,

Welcome to life! I am so excited that you are finally here. When you were less than an hour old, your mom and dad called me and I got saw your tiny, real face for the first time. I felt tears of joy form then, and they lingered in my eyes for days afterward. I knew in that moment that I had to see you as soon as possible, that I had to return home sooner than planned. So I did, and when I first held you, I was overwhelmed with awe at your every perfection. I was also so grateful that you actually let me hold you – unlike your brother when he was a new baby!

~*~

Three years ago, I wrote a letter to your brother and cousin right after they were born. In it I shared my wishes and dreams for them, my hopes for their life, and, though meager, wisdom. Everything in that letter I want for you as well. I want you to know by heart all the words and songs of your favorite movies. I want you to be excited for bed on Friday nights, because you know that when you wake on Saturday an entire table of syrupy pancakes and blueberry muffins will be waiting for you. I want you to witness the fathomless peace that comes over you when you wake to find a kitten curled up in your arms, it's whispery purr rumbling from your head to your toes. To swim in the limitless spirit that floods you when surrounded by a desert's song.

I hope that the brightness of your spirit will outshine the greatest dark this world tries to throw at you. That you know oceans of love and joy and peace. That in those waters only the faintest and most minor droplets of pain and sadness land upon you. And speaking of oceans; it is my fervent wish that you will get to travel through all of them, and with gleeful anticipation step foot in every country and continent you desire to explore. I dream that, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of our troubled, beautiful world, you are able to find a true home. A place that makes you feel complete, whole - the way I do when I breathe in the air of Alaska.

Something else I shared with Tanner and David were the words “Follow Your Bliss", a missive first spoken by your Grandpa Berg. In the volume and routine of daily life, it is a mission so easily lost, and yet I believe it is so important to each person that they do seek out their own vision of bliss. There is another reason why so many people do not follow their soul's poem - it is not an easy path. It is hard, and scary and full of treacherous, vicious thoughts. So many people hold back from their dreams because of those thoughts, because they allow the initial flickerings of doubt to erupt so high that they drop their plans like forgotten pennies on the pavement. 

Create the courage to be different. To learn to let yourself grow used to, and live with, fear. It is OK to be afraid, that’s part of what makes you human, but it is vital that you talk back to your fear whenever it dares dissuade you. Ask it questions, uncover it’s loopholes and weak spots. Find them and you'll be able to climb through every obstacle thrown at you, with a rare freedom waiting for you on the other side. It will be so hard to do this at first, crushing to a point that it will feel impossible. It isn't though, and the more you fight back, the easier it will become to keep fighting.

I also pray that you grow up to define yourself by your soul, and not your body. While you are physically beautiful, that is not all you are. Not even close. We live in a world that, regrettably, tries to judge women by how they look and dress, what color their hair and eyes are, whether they’re too much or too little of something, honing in on a number on a scale. These cruel judgments of the world are not important and I want you fling them away from you as far as possible. 

So when you watch the movies of Disney princesses don't just notice their beauty, but their inner power as well. Belle’s bravery, Merida’s fierceness, Cinderella’s kindness to animals. Then go learn about the real life princesses  - the warrior ones – Zenobia and Boudicca. Read the stories of women who did not smother their truths at the request of others, nor let talk of 'a men’s world' keep them from diving into science and politics and adventure - Marie Curie and Queen Elizabeth I, Sally Ride and Nellie Bly. Place importance on the tales of women who aided others, knowing that those actions jeopardized their very lives - Sojurner Truth and Harriet Tubman and Malala Yousafza. Soak up the stories of these women - and countless others - and let them inspire you to find the story of your life that you need to be told.  

I look forward so much to seeing you grow. To watch as you navigate the complexities of siblinghood, and parent's rules. To being part of the support system that helps you discover which pathways and rivers you want to travel down. I am eager to know the sound of your laughter, to witness the way your eyes light up at the sight of the tree on Christmas morning, and to share in your joy as you discover the pure magic that is Harry Potter. I can't wait to watch you discover the miracle of worlds that exist between the covers of books, and to whisk you away on coffee dates and trips to the movies. And when you are playing sports or dancing or singing or taking part in spelling bees or math competitions, I will always be cheering you on, perhaps not always in person, but absolutely in spirit.

Finally, let your own, unique powers glow and give yourself free reign to be wild or calm, silly or serious, loud or quiet, to be all of these and everything in between if that is what you desire. Dictate to the world who you will be, not the other way around.

*~*

Dear Harlow, when I first learned of your coming, it was as I walked through a forest of tall, ancient trees. I celebrated your new existence within a sea of old ones. I loved you entirely then. I love you infinitely more now. I always will.

          - Aunt Kelly (Kiki)

~*~*~