Every time New Year's creeps up on me, conspicuously hiding amidst life's haphazard duties, college classes, holidays, tests, trials, trips and everything in between...I find myself wishing time to move slower, not only so I can look back on the year about to end, but also think to myself...where did the time go?
It's what we all say isn't it? Where did the time go? When I at the horse rescue farm I volunteer at in Reedsville I was talking with the owner and she said "just when put the Christmas decorations away, it feels like I'll have to take them out again in a few weeks." We all know what she means don't we? Christmas flew by way too fast, but it was enjoyable as always! Christmas has always been my favorite time of year, the world just transforms for those few precious weeks and everyone can distance themselves from life's worries. , soaking in the nostalgia and time with family that Christmas brings so near.
I'll admit, I'm still holding onto that Christmas magic! I love driving through my hometown of Sheboygan, WI and seeing all of the lights casting glows on houses' facades, as well as traditional Christmas trees bedecked with their own lights and ornaments. But while my family and I take down the ornaments, the decorations, the outside lights and eventually the tree, we reflect on this Christmas, as well as the year which is about to come to a close.
When New Years rolls around we all usually gather 'round the television and watch one program or another as the famous ball drops in Times Square. The countdown begins, we wait with baited breath...and then suddenly you blink and its 2010. 2009 is immediately regaled to a not-so-distant memory. It's forever out of reach, becoming another piece of our lives we can revisit only in our mind. 2010 on the other hand? Stretches ahead like a freshly paved highway through undiscovered land. Each bend brings something new, endless possibilities hiding behind mountains, sleeping in valleys, waiting in the sky or creeping up behind you like a tailgating car.
This whole "fresh start" idea is played up by the media as much as Christmas is. Which is probably why as soon as that clock strikes midnight thousands of people rip out a sheet of paper and begin scribbling their aspirations and goals they've spontaneously set for themselves. Now, maybe some of you think them thoroughly through and actually stick to 'em as that "fresh start" state of mind begins to wear off like peeling paint on a house. And for those who do, kudos to you! I respect people who make New Years Resolutions and make an honest, deliberate effort to see them through.
I'll admit something else, I've never been one for New Years Resolutions? Why you ask? I'm not quite sure, but this year? The whole notion of them has been creeping about on the outskirts of my conscious, like a marble rolling beneath the floor, caught in the furnace pipes, always evading your attempts to catch it. Why, you may also ask, if I've never before entertained the idea of New Years Resolutions, would you do so now? Again, I can't tell you. All I can say is this, I guess as people get older and their lives change, it puts things in perspective for them and makes them think that hey! Maybe there is something to this whole resolution thing after all.
With that said, are the resolutions I have lofty or large scale? Of course not! Making such resolutions are one of the reasons I believe people set themselves up for failure before they even begin. Now those that do set large scale resolutions and follow through flawlessly, kudos to you. I've never been that type of person. But perhaps, now that I'm reflecting on my own tentative resolutions, one of them is a bit large scale. Either way, it doesn't really matter whether your resolutions are of a large or small scale, as long as they're logically attainable and reasonable...that's all that matters right?
2009 has been a year of many tumultuous happenings, as well as highs. No doubt all of us will have our own personal memories when looking back on this year, and that's what makes the New Year so unique. Each of us looks at it in a different way, as well as anticipates it. I won't go into full-blown nostalgia and talk about all the things I went through in my life. Because the truth is, I'm not naturally that open of a person! I'll leave the nostalgic memories to you, the reader. Before you go, though, let me just say this. For all of you who have taken time out of your day to read my blog, have found something meaningful in my posts, whether I made you laugh, reflect, think, respond, or even inspired you to write something of your own...I want to extend a very heartfelt thank you to you all!!! When I started this blog for my first college English class at UW-Sheboygan a year ago in September, I had no idea it would grow to this, as well as garner so many followers. After all, I'm just a nineteen-year-old college student who has an indistinguishable passion for writing. Whether it be short stories, blogs, novels, poems or anything! Whatever comes to my mind each Wednesday I write down, always surrendering to the "free writer" inside of me, letting it take that proverbial wheel and steer me, sometimes, haphazardly, down the literary highway. Some days it's drenched in golden light, warming my skin. Other times its laden with boiling storm clouds, weighing each word down. One thing I've found, that for how random they are, each blog post has a subtle connection to the others.
With that said, I know I'll continue to hone my writing skills. It is, after all, my life's greatest passion and undeniably what I want to do for a living someday. I hope you, the reader, will continue to read my blog and find something meaningful that you can take away in each post. Of course, your comments are always welcome. I enjoy feedback! May you look fondly back on 2009, and even though we've all had our share of hardship in this year, I pray that you've recovered from each roadblock and find strength in family and your faith. A very Happy New Year to you all!!! Enjoy the ride that lays before you.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Nocturnal Writer - Part 2
I've decided to continue my first post last Wednesday entitled Nocturnal Writer and share with you a poem I wrote regarding the subject.
I'm still mystified by my recent discovery. All this while I had either convinced myself that I was a morning person, refused to accept that I wasn't, or somehow led a balanced life between being a morning and night person without fully falling victim to one or the other. How's that for confusing?
But now that I've accepted that I am in fact a night person, below is a poem I wrote about how my writing seems to take off once the sun falls behind the earth like a yellow plate slipping between soapy fingers and the moon rises like billowing lace curtains against a silent wind. I hope you enjoy it, and with Christmas Eve tomorrow...may you enjoy this season with family and friends, while also finding time to realize the true meaning of Christmas.
Merry Christmas everyone!!! To everyone who reads my blogs, leaves comments, became a follower or just takes time out of their day to see what I have to say I appreciate it all! When I first started this blog a year ago I could never imagine it would grow to become a part of my daily life. But now, without fail, each Wednesday, here I am, writing another post...and I love it! Like I mentioned many times before, this blog is another extension of my writing, and I couldn't live without it. Each blog post is random, because I free write each one, but somehow there's always that underpinning of connection between them all. Next Wednesday seems hard to believe will be my last post for 2009! Crazy right? I'll have to make it extra special! :)
Moonscape
By sun’s light I once wrote,
Seeking words amidst its
Gold-fingered touch and warmth.
The proverbial highway drenched
In mid-day’s sparkling aura.
When it fades like a gray-skinned
Barn, darkness tumbles into voids,
Spilled tubes of ink leaking into
Shadow-drenched corners, filling
Up the evening until it is night.
My inner words escape, through a
Passage accessed only when the sky
Is awash in sugary morsels. Time’s
Hands are parallel to the twelfth hour.
A story forms itself like the tide ebbing closer.
What is it about the night?
That so inspires me to write, to mold
A vague idea into something solid
Like wisps of smoke back into a cigarette?
Why not other times during the day?
The night has an infamous reputation.
It is the only hour set upon the watches
Of society’s illicit. It is when bonfires and
Beer bottles litter the night, dodging the law
And any notion of common sense.
Night is when the world drenches itself
In slumber, like an unfinished painting.
Beneath the film of darkness color
Pulses alive and just as brilliant.
I touch it, and this is where it begins.
Ideas tumble forth, like a thousand
Books open. Words melding into one
Another until they resemble a story.
Darkness beyond the cold glass of my
Windows is meant for sleep, but I lie awake.
Well past the time when cats restlessly roam
I lay hunched over pen and paper, another
Novel taking shape like the one-eyed moon
Fingering lace curtains, falling through to
Quench its curiosity of this nocturnal writer.
What then, shall each night bring?
Haphazard ideas, a flash of brilliance.
Will it bring the elusive ending of
A story within grasp? One must only
Wait until the moonscape appears…to know.
I'm still mystified by my recent discovery. All this while I had either convinced myself that I was a morning person, refused to accept that I wasn't, or somehow led a balanced life between being a morning and night person without fully falling victim to one or the other. How's that for confusing?
But now that I've accepted that I am in fact a night person, below is a poem I wrote about how my writing seems to take off once the sun falls behind the earth like a yellow plate slipping between soapy fingers and the moon rises like billowing lace curtains against a silent wind. I hope you enjoy it, and with Christmas Eve tomorrow...may you enjoy this season with family and friends, while also finding time to realize the true meaning of Christmas.
Merry Christmas everyone!!! To everyone who reads my blogs, leaves comments, became a follower or just takes time out of their day to see what I have to say I appreciate it all! When I first started this blog a year ago I could never imagine it would grow to become a part of my daily life. But now, without fail, each Wednesday, here I am, writing another post...and I love it! Like I mentioned many times before, this blog is another extension of my writing, and I couldn't live without it. Each blog post is random, because I free write each one, but somehow there's always that underpinning of connection between them all. Next Wednesday seems hard to believe will be my last post for 2009! Crazy right? I'll have to make it extra special! :)
Moonscape
By sun’s light I once wrote,
Seeking words amidst its
Gold-fingered touch and warmth.
The proverbial highway drenched
In mid-day’s sparkling aura.
When it fades like a gray-skinned
Barn, darkness tumbles into voids,
Spilled tubes of ink leaking into
Shadow-drenched corners, filling
Up the evening until it is night.
My inner words escape, through a
Passage accessed only when the sky
Is awash in sugary morsels. Time’s
Hands are parallel to the twelfth hour.
A story forms itself like the tide ebbing closer.
What is it about the night?
That so inspires me to write, to mold
A vague idea into something solid
Like wisps of smoke back into a cigarette?
Why not other times during the day?
The night has an infamous reputation.
It is the only hour set upon the watches
Of society’s illicit. It is when bonfires and
Beer bottles litter the night, dodging the law
And any notion of common sense.
Night is when the world drenches itself
In slumber, like an unfinished painting.
Beneath the film of darkness color
Pulses alive and just as brilliant.
I touch it, and this is where it begins.
Ideas tumble forth, like a thousand
Books open. Words melding into one
Another until they resemble a story.
Darkness beyond the cold glass of my
Windows is meant for sleep, but I lie awake.
Well past the time when cats restlessly roam
I lay hunched over pen and paper, another
Novel taking shape like the one-eyed moon
Fingering lace curtains, falling through to
Quench its curiosity of this nocturnal writer.
What then, shall each night bring?
Haphazard ideas, a flash of brilliance.
Will it bring the elusive ending of
A story within grasp? One must only
Wait until the moonscape appears…to know.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Nocturnal Writer
I'll start today's blog post with a single question: are you a morning or night person?
For some of you the answer might be easy. Other times you might have to sit there and think about it for a few minutes. Or even some of you may be inclined to say you're both! That's the fence I'm straddling right now.
Last night, perhaps a little before suppertime at 4:30 to 5 an idea for a story came to me. So naturally I started writing in down. Eventually my hand cramped up so I fired up my laptop and started typing it out. Before I knew it eleven o'clock rolled around and I had to get to bed. But after brushing my teeth and the whole lot ideas were still blooming within me, so I grabbed my pen and notebook once more and started jotting them down. Finally at half past midnight I shut off my light, but still my mind hummed on that proverbial literary highway and I didn't drift off to sleep until 1 or 1:30.
Those of you who are writers will know what I'm talking about. An idea comes into your head and it's like it's a summer thunderstorm suddenly swelling on the horizon. There's nothing you can do to stop it from building up, from thickening the air, from consuming you, from pursuing you. You simply have to surrender to it, and let it run its course until finally you can sit back and make sense of everything. Picking through the haphazard words and ideas you've thrown onto the paper like a tornado shredding through a suburb, demolishing house after house.
So what does this have to do with the title of this blog post? Well, referring back to the idea I was up writing about until half past midnight last night, I'm come to understand something about myself. When I had my summer job at the library I had to be to work at eight o'clock. Therefore, in order to allow myself enough time to take a shower, eat breakfast and straighten my hair I woke up at five o'clock each morning. Was it difficult getting up that early five days a week? Sometimes yes. But I loved my job! I mean, I think I can safely say that it's any writer's dream to work in a library. I'm no exception! I love Sheboygan's library, and my former co-workers as well.
Unfortunately it was only a summer job, and a strained budget prevented me from working full-time there, so it ended in September. A few weeks after I found myself getting up at seven o'clock, or even six thirty. My mind and body were still on that early morning time. But it wouldn't be long before the wheels loosened, the track fell apart and I found myself tumbling back down to the old, rutted highway I knew so well. Sleeping in.
For some of you sleeping in until eight thirty may seem like a terrible waste of a morning, and I'd have to agree! But there's another side of me that says, this was the time I was meant to sleep in. I was never a morning person. I only woke up at five o'clock five days a week because I had to. But isn't that how a lot of us work? We would only wake up early in the morning because we had to? And I'm not just talking about work. Since I don't drive, occasionally the owner of the horse rescue farm I volunteer at in Reedsville picks me up in Sheboygan when she has to run errands nearby. She's always been an early riser, getting up at five thirty each morning. Of course, she has ten horses to tend to. But usually she'll pick me up around seven o'clock in the morning. So, naturally again, I have to wake up at five o'clock just to be ready in time. Are you seeing a pattern here? Funny, it took me a while to figure it out myself!
I only wake up early in the morning when I have to. Otherwise, let me sleep in! Sure, I've never done what my brother does...sleep in until eleven o'clock and then have pizza for breakfast and lunch. That's just crazy if you ask me. But even still I find myself thinking eight-thirty is too late to sleep in. What's your opinion? Are you a morning or night person? Or both like me?
Another point I wish to address is the fact that I seem to write better at night as well. Like I mentioned before in this post, I thought of an idea for a story and was up until half past midnight jotting it down. Looking back on it now I realized that as it got later and later my mind became more active and eager to develop the story. I paid no mind to the clock and kept writing, ideas spilling forth. Why is this you ask? I have no idea! Perhaps it's because I've always been a night person, but it took me until now to figure it out. I've always known in a vague sort of way that I seem to think better, and write better at night. It's like my creative side comes out of the shadows where it had been curled up during the day, sleeping like an old cat. Once night time falls it comes alive, stretching its limbs, howling with all its might, it recaptures its youth and blithely glides along, relishing the night and its darkness.
That's not to say that during the day my writing is sluggish. In fact, it's just as good. But just as I seem to be more creative and perhaps more productive at night, so am I more apt to write when the weather is say, overcast and rainy, or a whiteout blizzard is whirling outside my windows, or a severe thunderstorm is pounding away. In turn, when the weather is just the right temperature for shorts and a t-shirt and there's not a cloud in sight you'll find me outside on the patio, typing away on my laptop.
I guess my point is, each type of weather, and time of day, presents different writing opportunities for me. Which can produce varied results obviously, and I think it's part of the reason why writing is so special. Sometimes the weather, or time of day, can mean the difference between a productive day, and a day when it wasn't so productive. Other times what you struggled to get down on paper during daylight hours can suddenly be within your grasp like a mirage coming into focus, when nighttime rolls around. I know it's happened to me!
Of course, I could go into how a writer needs to be in the mood to write, and I could talk about a lovely thing called writer's block as well. But that's a whole other blog post entirely! And as it usually goes each of my posts are verbose as it is. No need to expand them any further right? If I remember correctly, for one of my college English classes I read a piece by Annie Dillard about writer's block. It was very well done. I think it was during my second English class that I stumbled upon it, so invariably I don't remember much, but one line stuck with me, if only a fraction of it. It was a line in which Dillard remarked that each time a writer sits down and makes up their mind to write, they don't just shoot off like huskies across the snow, it takes time to develop things and get the ball rolling.
That singular frame of words, huskies across the snow, gives me such a mental image of exactly what Dillard means. Huskies bound across the snow at top speed, effortlessly, smoothly and with exact precision. Do I wish I could begin every writing session like that. Of course! But as it goes, it doesn't always work out that way. Even if I'm writing in preferred conditions and I'm in the mood. Of course, even if it is a rough writing day, sometimes when I go back and reread what I've written, I find a few precious jewels I can save, or find that the piece as a whole isn't as bad as I thought, or perhaps I don't have to change a thing! If you wish to further look into Annie Dillard's book which I've quoted from, it's entitled The Writing Life. I'll attach a link to a website where you can read excerpts from Dillard's book, but I can't promise that it will work! Hopefully it does though. I know when I read the excerpts I greatly enjoyed sympathizing and agreeing with a lot she had to say, as well as just reading about her wisdom as a life long writer!http://browseinside.harpercollins.com/index.aspx?isbn13=9780060919887
In short, I've met a lot of writer's both in life and online, and I've found that a lot of my struggles are their own. I always enjoy talking with fellow writers, and hope anyone who is will post their own ideas to my blog. You're always welcome!
Until next time, I'll be working on my latest story idea and perhaps Wednesday night will find me writing once again.
For some of you the answer might be easy. Other times you might have to sit there and think about it for a few minutes. Or even some of you may be inclined to say you're both! That's the fence I'm straddling right now.
Last night, perhaps a little before suppertime at 4:30 to 5 an idea for a story came to me. So naturally I started writing in down. Eventually my hand cramped up so I fired up my laptop and started typing it out. Before I knew it eleven o'clock rolled around and I had to get to bed. But after brushing my teeth and the whole lot ideas were still blooming within me, so I grabbed my pen and notebook once more and started jotting them down. Finally at half past midnight I shut off my light, but still my mind hummed on that proverbial literary highway and I didn't drift off to sleep until 1 or 1:30.
Those of you who are writers will know what I'm talking about. An idea comes into your head and it's like it's a summer thunderstorm suddenly swelling on the horizon. There's nothing you can do to stop it from building up, from thickening the air, from consuming you, from pursuing you. You simply have to surrender to it, and let it run its course until finally you can sit back and make sense of everything. Picking through the haphazard words and ideas you've thrown onto the paper like a tornado shredding through a suburb, demolishing house after house.
So what does this have to do with the title of this blog post? Well, referring back to the idea I was up writing about until half past midnight last night, I'm come to understand something about myself. When I had my summer job at the library I had to be to work at eight o'clock. Therefore, in order to allow myself enough time to take a shower, eat breakfast and straighten my hair I woke up at five o'clock each morning. Was it difficult getting up that early five days a week? Sometimes yes. But I loved my job! I mean, I think I can safely say that it's any writer's dream to work in a library. I'm no exception! I love Sheboygan's library, and my former co-workers as well.
Unfortunately it was only a summer job, and a strained budget prevented me from working full-time there, so it ended in September. A few weeks after I found myself getting up at seven o'clock, or even six thirty. My mind and body were still on that early morning time. But it wouldn't be long before the wheels loosened, the track fell apart and I found myself tumbling back down to the old, rutted highway I knew so well. Sleeping in.
For some of you sleeping in until eight thirty may seem like a terrible waste of a morning, and I'd have to agree! But there's another side of me that says, this was the time I was meant to sleep in. I was never a morning person. I only woke up at five o'clock five days a week because I had to. But isn't that how a lot of us work? We would only wake up early in the morning because we had to? And I'm not just talking about work. Since I don't drive, occasionally the owner of the horse rescue farm I volunteer at in Reedsville picks me up in Sheboygan when she has to run errands nearby. She's always been an early riser, getting up at five thirty each morning. Of course, she has ten horses to tend to. But usually she'll pick me up around seven o'clock in the morning. So, naturally again, I have to wake up at five o'clock just to be ready in time. Are you seeing a pattern here? Funny, it took me a while to figure it out myself!
I only wake up early in the morning when I have to. Otherwise, let me sleep in! Sure, I've never done what my brother does...sleep in until eleven o'clock and then have pizza for breakfast and lunch. That's just crazy if you ask me. But even still I find myself thinking eight-thirty is too late to sleep in. What's your opinion? Are you a morning or night person? Or both like me?
Another point I wish to address is the fact that I seem to write better at night as well. Like I mentioned before in this post, I thought of an idea for a story and was up until half past midnight jotting it down. Looking back on it now I realized that as it got later and later my mind became more active and eager to develop the story. I paid no mind to the clock and kept writing, ideas spilling forth. Why is this you ask? I have no idea! Perhaps it's because I've always been a night person, but it took me until now to figure it out. I've always known in a vague sort of way that I seem to think better, and write better at night. It's like my creative side comes out of the shadows where it had been curled up during the day, sleeping like an old cat. Once night time falls it comes alive, stretching its limbs, howling with all its might, it recaptures its youth and blithely glides along, relishing the night and its darkness.
That's not to say that during the day my writing is sluggish. In fact, it's just as good. But just as I seem to be more creative and perhaps more productive at night, so am I more apt to write when the weather is say, overcast and rainy, or a whiteout blizzard is whirling outside my windows, or a severe thunderstorm is pounding away. In turn, when the weather is just the right temperature for shorts and a t-shirt and there's not a cloud in sight you'll find me outside on the patio, typing away on my laptop.
I guess my point is, each type of weather, and time of day, presents different writing opportunities for me. Which can produce varied results obviously, and I think it's part of the reason why writing is so special. Sometimes the weather, or time of day, can mean the difference between a productive day, and a day when it wasn't so productive. Other times what you struggled to get down on paper during daylight hours can suddenly be within your grasp like a mirage coming into focus, when nighttime rolls around. I know it's happened to me!
Of course, I could go into how a writer needs to be in the mood to write, and I could talk about a lovely thing called writer's block as well. But that's a whole other blog post entirely! And as it usually goes each of my posts are verbose as it is. No need to expand them any further right? If I remember correctly, for one of my college English classes I read a piece by Annie Dillard about writer's block. It was very well done. I think it was during my second English class that I stumbled upon it, so invariably I don't remember much, but one line stuck with me, if only a fraction of it. It was a line in which Dillard remarked that each time a writer sits down and makes up their mind to write, they don't just shoot off like huskies across the snow, it takes time to develop things and get the ball rolling.
That singular frame of words, huskies across the snow, gives me such a mental image of exactly what Dillard means. Huskies bound across the snow at top speed, effortlessly, smoothly and with exact precision. Do I wish I could begin every writing session like that. Of course! But as it goes, it doesn't always work out that way. Even if I'm writing in preferred conditions and I'm in the mood. Of course, even if it is a rough writing day, sometimes when I go back and reread what I've written, I find a few precious jewels I can save, or find that the piece as a whole isn't as bad as I thought, or perhaps I don't have to change a thing! If you wish to further look into Annie Dillard's book which I've quoted from, it's entitled The Writing Life. I'll attach a link to a website where you can read excerpts from Dillard's book, but I can't promise that it will work! Hopefully it does though. I know when I read the excerpts I greatly enjoyed sympathizing and agreeing with a lot she had to say, as well as just reading about her wisdom as a life long writer!http://browseinside.harpercollins.com/index.aspx?isbn13=9780060919887
In short, I've met a lot of writer's both in life and online, and I've found that a lot of my struggles are their own. I always enjoy talking with fellow writers, and hope anyone who is will post their own ideas to my blog. You're always welcome!
Until next time, I'll be working on my latest story idea and perhaps Wednesday night will find me writing once again.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
That's What Christmas Is All About Charlie Brown
It's no doubt that around the Christmas season there are myriad concert specials, television shows, new and old movies, cooking shows and everything else related to this time of year.
Commeralism has found its greatest niche yet...and it's never letting go. Now, I've never paid much attention to the commerical side of Christmas, per se, except after watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on TV last night. For anyone else who's watched it, you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that in the segment, Charlie was down because Christmas had turned into one huge marketing plow to get people to shop, spend more, buy more expensive gifts...etc.
Of course everything took on a humorous side. Like when Charlie and some other character who's name I can't recall, went down to look for a tree and all the lot had left were flamboyant colored metal ones, which the famous tiny tree with but a few branches stood hidden amidst the incongruous larger trees. In the end that humble little tree happened to turn out perfect for the play Charlie and his friends were putting on.
In a lot of ways, the true meaning of Christmas is like that little tree. The metal, oddly colored ones are like the media giants hovering over the season, drenching in shadow everything they don't like, and casting a bright, probing light everything they do. They are the ads you see on television, beckoning you to buy that new phone, that new iPod, that new flat-screen TV, that new CD. They're the over-sized signs in store front windows and shopping malls crying out in a shameless matter to buy, buy, buy!!!! 20% off, 50% off, buy one get one half off, all sweaters half price, doorbuster sales between 3AM and noon!!! Black Friday, I believe, is the kickoff of the media's hold on Christmas. Sure, it helps stores inch their accounts into the black again - hence the name Black Friday - but those absurdly early and late doorbuster sales seem like some sort of sardonic game to me.
Now before I go any further, I'll confess that two Thanksgivings ago my Dad and brother stood outside Best Buy in Sheboygan from ten o'clock Thursday night to five o'clock Friday morning so we could get a good deal on a new desktop computer we'd had our eye on, but other than that? No one in my family has ever willing lined up in front of a store with throngs of people just to catch a good deal. Yes, it does have to do with money being tighter this year than ever before, but I'm sure there's other people feeling the pinch too. So why is it that every Black Friday, hoards of people take the bate that retail chains and the media dangles before them? Plain and simple: people like to shop.
It's probably no secret that I like to shop too. I'm a girl, what can I say? I love walking into stores and looking at the sweaters, jeans, boots, dresses, scarves, purses, earrings...the list goes on. Also yes, I am attracted to good deals. Who isn't? But when stores start pulling out sales of the likes of Black Friday or those tri-level Christmas deals...I draw a thick chalk line. I can't stand stores that boast 20% off jeans, buy one get one half off!!! and then stick you with hidden costs or absurd rules that make it nearly impossible to figure out if you're actually saving money or having the wool pulled over your eyes.
I may be sounding cynical, but that's always been my view of shopping when it comes to Christmas. I have one more thing to admit, my view also has to do with my disdain for large crowds. I'm the type of person who values my personal space, and being squeezed right next to people or having to weave in and out of them like I'm walking a corn maze just to get somewhere...isn't my cup of tea.
I could also bring to light the many Christmas contests that go on. For instance, in A Charlie Brown Christmas, Snoopy decorates his dog house in a grandiloquent fashion in order to win the prize for best decorated house. Charlie rolls his eyes and remarks "even my dog has gotten into it." Meaning I'm sure, the commerical side of Christmas. This year, my Mom convinced my Dad to put up lights on our house, and it looks great. But again, even putting up Christmas lights can leak into that media side of things. Relatively close to my house there's a couple that always go all out with the lights. They're everywhere. On the roof, around the windows, twined up in the trees, and around bushes. If that wasn't enough, they also place myriad lawn ornaments everywhere including deer, snowmen, elves and not surprisingly...Santa and his sleigh.
Yes, my family and I drive past it every winter, and yes, it is fun to look at every year, and I'm sure his neighbor's look forward to it, but there's always a persistent glossy veneer over stuff like that. A shine polished and perfected by the media as it coats a thick layer of wax over what Christmas was originally intended to be. A grandiloquent display not for the eyes...but for the heart and mind. A remembrance of what Christmas is truly about. A message that is still portrayed on TV, even amidst the tumult of commericalism. A message told innocently and simply from one of Charlie Brown's friends who's name I still can't remember! Anyone know it? I believe he's the kid with the blanket.
In remembrance of Christmas, my church in Sheboygan holds one of the most enjoyable Christmas eve services I know. Well, at least that's my opinion! Before opening gifts and arriving at parties we all gather at church to celebrate a message that hasn't been completely lost amongst the automated voices coming eerily from lawn ornaments, the screaming signs declaring half off everything in department stores and the all around chatter rising from the media as a whole to distract everyone to what they feel is more important.
Well at the service we sing traditional Christmas caroles, read from the scripture about Jesus' birth, the three wise men and then at the end we all line up in a huge circle on the perimeter of the sanctuary with candles we were given, lighting them one by one and singing Silent Night. There is something so peaceful, so uncluttered, so removed from the media's shameless din and from everything else commerical about standing amidst my family and congregation, looking at those candles flickering all around me, and listening to voices softly singing one of my favorite Christmas songs. But church isn't the only place you can escape Christmas' commercial side.
It can be in your own home as well. The media, and a materialistic world tells us that it isn't Christmas without presents under the tree. I beg to differ. Yes, I understand that it's nice to receive gifts and have a little something to unwrap. Who doesn't like receiving gifts right? But once again, gifts aren't what Christmas is all about. Every year around this time the ringing of bells, cheery voices calling out and those famous red buckets are all blatant signs that for every privilege we enjoy, there are those less fortunate who view Christmas as just another day to struggle through and provide for those they love.
Christmas is a time of year to remember those less fortunate people, and give any way we can. Whether it be the donating of small toys to places like Salvation army, or dropping off nonperishable cans at local food pantries, or at food drives. It could be donating warm weather clothing, holding a brat fry...or any number of things. Granted, the Christmas season isn't the only time of year that we should all be giving to those in need, it is a time of year when everyone could use a little extra.
In addition, Christmas is about family. Although I talked about the darker side of those lucrative Christmas deals, I do enjoy going to the annual Old World Christmas Market in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin with my parents and visiting the hundreds of booths and vendors there. Everything from roasted nuts, to Swedish ornaments, handmade alpaca sweaters, German pancakes to a whole lot of other stuff! I ended up buying a cashmere black and white tweed scarf - I'm crazy for black and white tweed - and a pair of handmade earrings from a lady who's daughter I graduated from high school with. I always visit her booth. :)
You may be thinking, but isn't that contradictory? First putting down retail chains for playing on people's habits in order to bring in more cash and then talking about shopping at a Christmas market? Perhaps it is, but let me put it this way. I only have a problem with stores when they outshine what Christmas is truly about. When they shove expensive electronics and merchandise in your face or when they offer seemingly good deals that have a labyrinth of rules swept into their dusty corners...that's when I have a problem with it. Also, the Old World Christmas Market doesn't put forth any deals like that. All the vendors simply offer high quality, hand made, often imported goods at sensibly priced costs. Sure, there's lots of people, but I would brave such masses any day over the barely contained pandemonium of a crowded shopping mall any day. The difference in atmosphere has a lot to do with it to. At a shopping mall doorbuster sale everyone is trying to get that good deal and be one step ahead of the next person. Now, I would get into horror stories of people trampled to death outside Wal-Mart because frankly? Stories like that are a pathetic and very sad outlook on today's humanity. I won't tap that vein.
In closing, whether you adore Black Friday sales and all those Christmas specials and don't mind braving huge masses of people to get them, doesn't really matter to me. Of course, what does matter is what you think of everything. Your opinion is always welcome on my blog! Any feedback is appreciated.
To get myself into the Christmas spirit I make handmade Christmas cards. It really helps me get back to the basics of Christmas. I've always enjoyed handmade crafts, which is why I enjoy the Old World Christmas Market so much. There's always that special touch to something handmade: the slight mistakes, that inimitable quality and look, and the way it reaches out to you in a way that nothing store bought ever can. When I make each of my cards I think about the person I'm sending it to, and that makes it all the more special. I'm almost done with them, having one three and a half to go! Perhaps I'll post some pictures on my blog later on.
As Christmas draws near, I hope you too don't lose sight of what Christmas was intended to be about. Today's media has cast a long, hard shadow over everything, but I won't be fooled. Just remember...when you're walking into a store, passing neighbors, boarding the bus, greeting friends, buying clothes or at work...to anyone who dares to wish you a happy holiday, proudly tell them back Merry Christmas to you too.
People trying to take the word Christmas out of everything this season is another blog post entirely. Honestly? I can't stand it. But for now all I'll say is Merry Christmas everyone!!!!!
Commeralism has found its greatest niche yet...and it's never letting go. Now, I've never paid much attention to the commerical side of Christmas, per se, except after watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on TV last night. For anyone else who's watched it, you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that in the segment, Charlie was down because Christmas had turned into one huge marketing plow to get people to shop, spend more, buy more expensive gifts...etc.
Of course everything took on a humorous side. Like when Charlie and some other character who's name I can't recall, went down to look for a tree and all the lot had left were flamboyant colored metal ones, which the famous tiny tree with but a few branches stood hidden amidst the incongruous larger trees. In the end that humble little tree happened to turn out perfect for the play Charlie and his friends were putting on.
In a lot of ways, the true meaning of Christmas is like that little tree. The metal, oddly colored ones are like the media giants hovering over the season, drenching in shadow everything they don't like, and casting a bright, probing light everything they do. They are the ads you see on television, beckoning you to buy that new phone, that new iPod, that new flat-screen TV, that new CD. They're the over-sized signs in store front windows and shopping malls crying out in a shameless matter to buy, buy, buy!!!! 20% off, 50% off, buy one get one half off, all sweaters half price, doorbuster sales between 3AM and noon!!! Black Friday, I believe, is the kickoff of the media's hold on Christmas. Sure, it helps stores inch their accounts into the black again - hence the name Black Friday - but those absurdly early and late doorbuster sales seem like some sort of sardonic game to me.
Now before I go any further, I'll confess that two Thanksgivings ago my Dad and brother stood outside Best Buy in Sheboygan from ten o'clock Thursday night to five o'clock Friday morning so we could get a good deal on a new desktop computer we'd had our eye on, but other than that? No one in my family has ever willing lined up in front of a store with throngs of people just to catch a good deal. Yes, it does have to do with money being tighter this year than ever before, but I'm sure there's other people feeling the pinch too. So why is it that every Black Friday, hoards of people take the bate that retail chains and the media dangles before them? Plain and simple: people like to shop.
It's probably no secret that I like to shop too. I'm a girl, what can I say? I love walking into stores and looking at the sweaters, jeans, boots, dresses, scarves, purses, earrings...the list goes on. Also yes, I am attracted to good deals. Who isn't? But when stores start pulling out sales of the likes of Black Friday or those tri-level Christmas deals...I draw a thick chalk line. I can't stand stores that boast 20% off jeans, buy one get one half off!!! and then stick you with hidden costs or absurd rules that make it nearly impossible to figure out if you're actually saving money or having the wool pulled over your eyes.
I may be sounding cynical, but that's always been my view of shopping when it comes to Christmas. I have one more thing to admit, my view also has to do with my disdain for large crowds. I'm the type of person who values my personal space, and being squeezed right next to people or having to weave in and out of them like I'm walking a corn maze just to get somewhere...isn't my cup of tea.
I could also bring to light the many Christmas contests that go on. For instance, in A Charlie Brown Christmas, Snoopy decorates his dog house in a grandiloquent fashion in order to win the prize for best decorated house. Charlie rolls his eyes and remarks "even my dog has gotten into it." Meaning I'm sure, the commerical side of Christmas. This year, my Mom convinced my Dad to put up lights on our house, and it looks great. But again, even putting up Christmas lights can leak into that media side of things. Relatively close to my house there's a couple that always go all out with the lights. They're everywhere. On the roof, around the windows, twined up in the trees, and around bushes. If that wasn't enough, they also place myriad lawn ornaments everywhere including deer, snowmen, elves and not surprisingly...Santa and his sleigh.
Yes, my family and I drive past it every winter, and yes, it is fun to look at every year, and I'm sure his neighbor's look forward to it, but there's always a persistent glossy veneer over stuff like that. A shine polished and perfected by the media as it coats a thick layer of wax over what Christmas was originally intended to be. A grandiloquent display not for the eyes...but for the heart and mind. A remembrance of what Christmas is truly about. A message that is still portrayed on TV, even amidst the tumult of commericalism. A message told innocently and simply from one of Charlie Brown's friends who's name I still can't remember! Anyone know it? I believe he's the kid with the blanket.
In remembrance of Christmas, my church in Sheboygan holds one of the most enjoyable Christmas eve services I know. Well, at least that's my opinion! Before opening gifts and arriving at parties we all gather at church to celebrate a message that hasn't been completely lost amongst the automated voices coming eerily from lawn ornaments, the screaming signs declaring half off everything in department stores and the all around chatter rising from the media as a whole to distract everyone to what they feel is more important.
Well at the service we sing traditional Christmas caroles, read from the scripture about Jesus' birth, the three wise men and then at the end we all line up in a huge circle on the perimeter of the sanctuary with candles we were given, lighting them one by one and singing Silent Night. There is something so peaceful, so uncluttered, so removed from the media's shameless din and from everything else commerical about standing amidst my family and congregation, looking at those candles flickering all around me, and listening to voices softly singing one of my favorite Christmas songs. But church isn't the only place you can escape Christmas' commercial side.
It can be in your own home as well. The media, and a materialistic world tells us that it isn't Christmas without presents under the tree. I beg to differ. Yes, I understand that it's nice to receive gifts and have a little something to unwrap. Who doesn't like receiving gifts right? But once again, gifts aren't what Christmas is all about. Every year around this time the ringing of bells, cheery voices calling out and those famous red buckets are all blatant signs that for every privilege we enjoy, there are those less fortunate who view Christmas as just another day to struggle through and provide for those they love.
Christmas is a time of year to remember those less fortunate people, and give any way we can. Whether it be the donating of small toys to places like Salvation army, or dropping off nonperishable cans at local food pantries, or at food drives. It could be donating warm weather clothing, holding a brat fry...or any number of things. Granted, the Christmas season isn't the only time of year that we should all be giving to those in need, it is a time of year when everyone could use a little extra.
In addition, Christmas is about family. Although I talked about the darker side of those lucrative Christmas deals, I do enjoy going to the annual Old World Christmas Market in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin with my parents and visiting the hundreds of booths and vendors there. Everything from roasted nuts, to Swedish ornaments, handmade alpaca sweaters, German pancakes to a whole lot of other stuff! I ended up buying a cashmere black and white tweed scarf - I'm crazy for black and white tweed - and a pair of handmade earrings from a lady who's daughter I graduated from high school with. I always visit her booth. :)
You may be thinking, but isn't that contradictory? First putting down retail chains for playing on people's habits in order to bring in more cash and then talking about shopping at a Christmas market? Perhaps it is, but let me put it this way. I only have a problem with stores when they outshine what Christmas is truly about. When they shove expensive electronics and merchandise in your face or when they offer seemingly good deals that have a labyrinth of rules swept into their dusty corners...that's when I have a problem with it. Also, the Old World Christmas Market doesn't put forth any deals like that. All the vendors simply offer high quality, hand made, often imported goods at sensibly priced costs. Sure, there's lots of people, but I would brave such masses any day over the barely contained pandemonium of a crowded shopping mall any day. The difference in atmosphere has a lot to do with it to. At a shopping mall doorbuster sale everyone is trying to get that good deal and be one step ahead of the next person. Now, I would get into horror stories of people trampled to death outside Wal-Mart because frankly? Stories like that are a pathetic and very sad outlook on today's humanity. I won't tap that vein.
In closing, whether you adore Black Friday sales and all those Christmas specials and don't mind braving huge masses of people to get them, doesn't really matter to me. Of course, what does matter is what you think of everything. Your opinion is always welcome on my blog! Any feedback is appreciated.
To get myself into the Christmas spirit I make handmade Christmas cards. It really helps me get back to the basics of Christmas. I've always enjoyed handmade crafts, which is why I enjoy the Old World Christmas Market so much. There's always that special touch to something handmade: the slight mistakes, that inimitable quality and look, and the way it reaches out to you in a way that nothing store bought ever can. When I make each of my cards I think about the person I'm sending it to, and that makes it all the more special. I'm almost done with them, having one three and a half to go! Perhaps I'll post some pictures on my blog later on.
As Christmas draws near, I hope you too don't lose sight of what Christmas was intended to be about. Today's media has cast a long, hard shadow over everything, but I won't be fooled. Just remember...when you're walking into a store, passing neighbors, boarding the bus, greeting friends, buying clothes or at work...to anyone who dares to wish you a happy holiday, proudly tell them back Merry Christmas to you too.
People trying to take the word Christmas out of everything this season is another blog post entirely. Honestly? I can't stand it. But for now all I'll say is Merry Christmas everyone!!!!!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Rediscovered Joy
In lieu of my online Creative Writing class I have recently begun writing poetry again. I dabbled in it in high school, but nothing every became of it. Think of my passion for writing as rooms in a sprawling mansion. For a long time through grade and high school I stayed in one room, pacing the floor, unwilling or afraid to step beyond the doors to uncharted writing territory. I didn't press my knowledge of writing, I stayed where I was, secure in the comfort it brought me.
My writing class has really allowed me to step beyond that singular room and explore all the corners I want. Now I'm finding I roam about the mansion freely, instead of limiting and confining myself. I've found that just as writing short stories and novels, writing poetry comes easily to me. Especially when I'm writing about what inspires me most!
Which, for those of you who know me, would be 1) The countryside 2) Small towns 3) Abandoned barns, farms and houses 4) Historic homes 5) Small towns 6) Thunderstorms 7) The Great Plains and finally 8) Country and small town life. As I've said hundreds of times before, even though I've lived in the city my whole life, I truly believe that I belong in the countryside. Hey! Just look at what inspires me! There's something so releasing about driving through the countryside, listening to the silence permeating over whispering fields, or taking a picture of a dilapidated house stripped of paint, fingers of sunlight spilling through its cracks.
Writing has always been that place I can go to visit such places, even as I sit before my laptop, in the bustling city of Sheboygan. I let my mind's eye take me up the front steps of that abandoned house, or lead me down a narrow dirt road to a forgotten small town, swaying corn field or quiet farm nestled in the hollow of a valley. I've never had a terribly busy life, but still it's nice to get away once in a while isn't it? If only for a few precious moments as you write. Whether it's a blog post, a story, a paper, an article...or any number of things.
Poetry is just another extension of that. But I believe it holds it's own power that makes it stand apart from my usual short story writing. What I mean by that is, whereas it would sometimes take you a paragraph or more to say something in a story, in a poem you can condense it into three to five lines, omitting words and adding in sensory details until the thought they are trying to portray becomes all the more powerful. I've posted a lot of my own poems on my blog, so feel free to read them. Condensing thoughts like that is one thing I really love about poetry. You can say a lot in a few words, increasing their power and play on your senses.
Also, you can speak in a language that literally flows and makes the words come alive. Recently I picked up a book from Sheboygan's local library that holds a collection of poems paying tribute to America's vanishing rural landscape, entitled Remember When. Albeit simple poems, they hold within them the ability to draw mental images in our minds, make us feel, taste, smell, touch and experience the words. Each poem is a miniature, condensed story within itself. I'd like to share a few short poems from the book that I particularly liked.
Some poems bring to life simple, everyday moments and turn them into something as if we're seeing them for the first time. Norman Rockwell was a master at this. His paintings portrayed everyday American life, yet each painting I saw made me stop and look deeper, as if I'd been too busy, or too consumed in tasks to realize the magic that lies within everyday moments. One of my assignments for my online class revolved around writing a prose piece for a painting. We had to come with a story of sorts behind it. I choose the Rockwell painting Family Grace, in which a younger boy and his Grandparent's were eating dinner. I found that it wasn't hard to create a scene behind the painting, because Rockwell injected so much feeling and emotion into it.
The first poem I would like to say is entitled Barn Lights at Night, by Mary Rufledt Gladitsch.
Alongside each poem is a beautiful picture of the countryside. Whether it be an old, abandoned homestead and what it used to look like, an old family farm which has outlived its purpose, rusted farm equipment or any number of things. These images only add to the beauty of the poems, and make you feel them all the more.
Another poem I found particularly notable was one talking about an abandoned farm seen from a highway, as its title suggests: Barn Seen From Highway 53, by Mary Rufledt Gladitsch.
My writing class has really allowed me to step beyond that singular room and explore all the corners I want. Now I'm finding I roam about the mansion freely, instead of limiting and confining myself. I've found that just as writing short stories and novels, writing poetry comes easily to me. Especially when I'm writing about what inspires me most!
Which, for those of you who know me, would be 1) The countryside 2) Small towns 3) Abandoned barns, farms and houses 4) Historic homes 5) Small towns 6) Thunderstorms 7) The Great Plains and finally 8) Country and small town life. As I've said hundreds of times before, even though I've lived in the city my whole life, I truly believe that I belong in the countryside. Hey! Just look at what inspires me! There's something so releasing about driving through the countryside, listening to the silence permeating over whispering fields, or taking a picture of a dilapidated house stripped of paint, fingers of sunlight spilling through its cracks.
Writing has always been that place I can go to visit such places, even as I sit before my laptop, in the bustling city of Sheboygan. I let my mind's eye take me up the front steps of that abandoned house, or lead me down a narrow dirt road to a forgotten small town, swaying corn field or quiet farm nestled in the hollow of a valley. I've never had a terribly busy life, but still it's nice to get away once in a while isn't it? If only for a few precious moments as you write. Whether it's a blog post, a story, a paper, an article...or any number of things.
Poetry is just another extension of that. But I believe it holds it's own power that makes it stand apart from my usual short story writing. What I mean by that is, whereas it would sometimes take you a paragraph or more to say something in a story, in a poem you can condense it into three to five lines, omitting words and adding in sensory details until the thought they are trying to portray becomes all the more powerful. I've posted a lot of my own poems on my blog, so feel free to read them. Condensing thoughts like that is one thing I really love about poetry. You can say a lot in a few words, increasing their power and play on your senses.
Also, you can speak in a language that literally flows and makes the words come alive. Recently I picked up a book from Sheboygan's local library that holds a collection of poems paying tribute to America's vanishing rural landscape, entitled Remember When. Albeit simple poems, they hold within them the ability to draw mental images in our minds, make us feel, taste, smell, touch and experience the words. Each poem is a miniature, condensed story within itself. I'd like to share a few short poems from the book that I particularly liked.
Some poems bring to life simple, everyday moments and turn them into something as if we're seeing them for the first time. Norman Rockwell was a master at this. His paintings portrayed everyday American life, yet each painting I saw made me stop and look deeper, as if I'd been too busy, or too consumed in tasks to realize the magic that lies within everyday moments. One of my assignments for my online class revolved around writing a prose piece for a painting. We had to come with a story of sorts behind it. I choose the Rockwell painting Family Grace, in which a younger boy and his Grandparent's were eating dinner. I found that it wasn't hard to create a scene behind the painting, because Rockwell injected so much feeling and emotion into it.
The first poem I would like to say is entitled Barn Lights at Night, by Mary Rufledt Gladitsch.
Lights on in the barn
Still make me smile
Knowing someone is home
I go back for a while
What a treasure I had
as a kid on the farm
returning at night
to that glow shining warm
Day after day
Night after night
Secure I could count on
my dad
and those lights.
Alongside each poem is a beautiful picture of the countryside. Whether it be an old, abandoned homestead and what it used to look like, an old family farm which has outlived its purpose, rusted farm equipment or any number of things. These images only add to the beauty of the poems, and make you feel them all the more.
Another poem I found particularly notable was one talking about an abandoned farm seen from a highway, as its title suggests: Barn Seen From Highway 53, by Mary Rufledt Gladitsch.
Forgotten barn
cradled now by
elderberrry bushes
overgrown and
forgotten too
Silent loft
echoing with
young boys
sweat
Sweet smell of new
mown hay
haunts
your rafters
Harvest memory
grows
dim
I was inspired by this book, and I haven't even finished reading it yet! There is simply something so poetic about the countryside. Something tranquil, something unassuming, something captivating, something breath-taking, something undiscovered and something worth while writing about. If you enjoy the magic of poetry, I would love to read some of yours! Or simply tell me what inspires you to write, no matter what type of writing it may be. To close off this blog post I would like to share a poem I recently wrote about a fictional abandoned barn. Often times when I'm reading, driving through the countryside or just plain bored I'll get a singular image in my mind of say...a desolate country road, a weed-entwined abandoned house, or a proud, old barn succumbing to nature's touch and find that I have to write about it. Such is the case with the poem I wrote yesterday. After reading half way through Remember When I garnered an image of an old barn, much like the ones portrayed in the book. Because I'm a visual learning, and a detail-oriented person, I couldn't rest until my fingers had put words on paper concerning every detail of that barn. My writing has always been heavily detailed, just read my blog post from a while back entitled Detail-Oriented and you'll get a better idea of where all of this is coming from.
In closing, which was supposed to be a paragraph ago! I hope you enjoy my poem, and again, feel free to submit your own, or simply drop a note saying what inspires you to write. I'd love to hear from you!
What I Seek, I Shall Never Find Again
Laughter drifts through splintered wood.
Is it from children past or the incessant
Prairie wind weaving between vine and beam?
Its fingers play deftly upon rusted farm
Equipment. Sleeping relics of days long ago.
Faded wood once proudly cloaked in red,
Now stands exposed to nature’s crude finger.
Each board a gray slate like winter’s barren trees.
Thinning with age, bringing sagging beams closer
To the surface, until its skeleton is all which remains.
Swaying, patched roof like the back of an old mare.
Pungent scent of fresh hay lingers amidst rafters,
Heavy footfalls of men puncture the heavy stillness.
But it is only the wind, once again playing a nostalgic
Tune through the barn’s hollowed soul and heart.
Deep into the earth its field stone foundation sinks,
Reclaimed slowly to the land which it once so
Proudly housed and stored, providing livelihood to
The men whose own hands raised its walls and beams.
Those same men now lie in the ground, befallen to fate.
Wooden windows set deep in aged stone, desolately
Peering through a labyrinth of shamelessly clinging
Vines and weeds. They twist and twine atop every
Surface, breaking through windows like prying fingers,
Or spindle like arms reaching up from the grave.
Atop cinder blocks an abandoned farm truck sits,
Hollowed headlights facing the dilapidated barn.
They are one in the same, both having accepted fate,
Yet silently they yearn for those heavy footfalls,
Booming voices and familiar grind of country life.
Rusted engine runs no more, tires bent and stripped.
Beams bowed, silently crying out in a voice stretched
Thin and dry for the weight of a single hay bale.
The dusty wheel begs for the slightest touch of a finger.
Both watch the weed-laden drive, waiting for time to return.
Laughter drifts through splintered wood.
Is it from children past or the incessant
Prairie wind weaving between vine and beam?
Its fingers play deftly upon rusted farm
Equipment. Sleeping relics of days long ago.
Faded wood once proudly cloaked in red,
Now stands exposed to nature’s crude finger.
Each board a gray slate like winter’s barren trees.
Thinning with age, bringing sagging beams closer
To the surface, until its skeleton is all which remains.
Swaying, patched roof like the back of an old mare.
Pungent scent of fresh hay lingers amidst rafters,
Heavy footfalls of men puncture the heavy stillness.
But it is only the wind, once again playing a nostalgic
Tune through the barn’s hollowed soul and heart.
Deep into the earth its field stone foundation sinks,
Reclaimed slowly to the land which it once so
Proudly housed and stored, providing livelihood to
The men whose own hands raised its walls and beams.
Those same men now lie in the ground, befallen to fate.
Wooden windows set deep in aged stone, desolately
Peering through a labyrinth of shamelessly clinging
Vines and weeds. They twist and twine atop every
Surface, breaking through windows like prying fingers,
Or spindle like arms reaching up from the grave.
Atop cinder blocks an abandoned farm truck sits,
Hollowed headlights facing the dilapidated barn.
They are one in the same, both having accepted fate,
Yet silently they yearn for those heavy footfalls,
Booming voices and familiar grind of country life.
Rusted engine runs no more, tires bent and stripped.
Beams bowed, silently crying out in a voice stretched
Thin and dry for the weight of a single hay bale.
The dusty wheel begs for the slightest touch of a finger.
Both watch the weed-laden drive, waiting for time to return.
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