Grumbles and Yawns

Monday morning comes ’round on the whisper of fleeting darkness It spreads across the horizon in hues of navy and crimson or surrounded by the mist of winter’s fog New life, new breath New work week Monday never knows what joy or sadness or need of coffee it brings It simply is Accepted as a day to start over or cursed by the loss of the past two days Monday is both love and dread Smiles and frowns Monday followsRead more

New Month, New Year

“January is here, with eyes that keenly glow, A frost-mailed warrior striding a shadowy steed of snow.” –  Edgar Fawcett After several days of above-normal temps, along with sun, rain, and pea-soup fog, it has turned colder and snowed. It’s a fitting start to the month of January in the Northern Hemisphere.  Snow and cold are expected here in the heart of winter, but not necessarily desired unless you own skis or a snowmobile.  I desire a gentler winter, with lessRead more

SoCS: Another Left Turn

The way I travel to work is filled with lines and blue skies and an airport fence. It’s straightness follows a curve, a detoured right turn, a left turn, then up a hill. Past houses both small and hugely expensive, past groves of green and yellow trees, past a trail crossing. Another left turn. Driveways on the left, a narrow road, the foliage of green weighs heavy on a barrier fence. Almost there and then I stop. The light isRead more

Tanking it to Winter

I received an email on Monday from a co-worker. “Are you done with the weather yet?” My response… “I want to run over Father Winter with a tank. A huge tank.” She deadpanned… “There’s no need for violence.” Oh, yes there is, my dear. Yes, there is. The need for a tank began at the end of January, when a snowstorm turned into -50 F wind chills. Father Winter has been miserable ever since. Snow Ice More Snow More IceRead more

Worry

Questions, always questions Will I? Can I? What if? Thick as grandma’s gravy Murky as dog-day waters It hangs in the air like a dense fog that fails to lift Doubts, always doubts I won’t I can’t If will happen Never positive in thought Believing in armageddon It drags its victims along through a pool of coagulated sludge Fear, always fear I submit I cringe A chill rises Tomorrow is at the forefront Yesterday still concerns It lurks in an inkyRead more

Morning Quest

Weekly Photo Challenge: “What are you in search of? Capture a quest with your camera.” (Apologies to my Facebook friends. You’ve seen this already. It’s Tuesday old and the fog has since lifted.) Ever since the Town of Grand Chute finished a walk/bike trail last fall, it’s been my quest to ride it to work in the morning during nice weather. I was only able to use the trail once last fall before the weather turned cold and the morningsRead more

Morning Fog

Weekly Photo Challenge: What does your morning look like? This was a morning drive to work, in March, when the weather was trying to decide if it should be winter or spring. Spring eventually won out, only to give its life to summer.Read more

Foggy Limericks

“The purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure pure reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!” ~Bill Watterson~ So, Bill found us out, writers wrongfully sure Our ideas weak, unreasoned, far from pure I love the words you say I read your posts almost every day And in the dense fog seek, for there is a cure “Most of us live in a fog. It’s like life is aRead more

A or B?

We’ve all done it. Paid a visit to the eye doctor. Sat in a chair with our faces plastered to a doo-dad contraption, our chins supported in a little plastic holder. We’ve looked through lenses and recited letters on the wall. If we can read them. And then we move on to multiple choice. “Which is better, clearer? A or B? A or B? A or B?” I’m always afraid I’ll get it wrong, that a buzzer will go off andRead more

Pauline’s Dream Revised

Back in August, 2014, I wrote a poem called Pauline’s Dream. You can read it HERE. For the Day 5 poetry challenge of Fog/Elegy/Metaphor, I chose to rewrite this poem and the words, but tell the same story. For those of you who are not regular readers, my mom is 95 and suffers from the effects of dementia. When Ben suggested fog as a mental state, this was a natural response. This is the place of my dreams, but itRead more