Tag Archives: bliss

The Storms Rant

Sparks
Sparks (Photo credit: PhotoGraham)

Now are you afraid? I’m coming.

Madness in the air tonight.

Grinning fury, threatening menace,

Blinding whiteness, hot as ice.

Do you feel it?  Cold descending,

Heavy heat begins to weep.

Crawling, creeping, rising, fleeing,

Off to wait, a watch to keep.

Can you see the branches dancing?

Swaying terror, frantic bliss.

Every leaf with hissing whispers

Shivers warning, blows a kiss.

Am I laughing?  So perceptive.

Yes, the rumbling’s belly deep.

Hard as silk and cruelly soothing,

Temper held and then unleashed.

Are you dreaming of the burning?

Sparks in darkness feed on drought.

Smoke and rain and choking blackness;

I could put the fires out.

Am I hell-bent on destruction?

Are you cowering, weak and small?

Bolts and volts and cracks and howling,

Fierce remorseless torrents fall.

Are you nodding off?  I’m going;

Wrapping up, my tantrum spent.

I’ve been harsh and you’ve been frightened.

Time for calm. I will relent.

What this night have I extinguished?

What ignited with the dawn?

You’ll remember me tomorrow.

Now I’m dying.  Played out.  Gone.

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Surprise!

There are all kinds of surprises. Love them or hate them, what can you do but accept them when they happen?

If someone thinks a planned surprise will make me happy, I wish they’d think again. Anticipation is half the fun. And not giving me some warning or some hints when something bad is likely to take me by surprise – that’s cruel. Ignorance is not bliss, it’s just ignorance. I like to be prepared for things, even if it’s only in my head.

Surprise me with your wit, or your compassion or your understanding. Amaze me with your talents. Blow me away, bowl me over.

But don’t sneak up behind me and scare me silly. My reaction might surprise you, but perhaps you won’t live long enough to tell anyone about it.

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A Difficult Decision

Yesterday I talked to a man who had only one leg. He came rolling into the Vision Centre in his wheel chair with a beaming broad smile on his face. It was a smile so fiercely beautiful I had to smile back. I don’t know how anyone who looked at him could hope to do otherwise.

While his glasses were being adjusted, cleaned and repaired, (all the helpful mundane things we do all day), we had one of those little chats that strangers are prone to having. Is it getting any warmer out there as the day goes on? Do you ever remember a spring so late? He told me it was snowing again and he said it with such delight. You should come out to the parking lot and see it! All those gigantic flakes just floating down. You can catch them on your glove – they’re like tiny bits of lace. Fragile, but captivating and wonderful to look at. So perfect it’s amazing!

But in my head I could see our driveway, and the snow shovel, and the banks and the horrible roads. So I gave my head a shake to get rid of those pictures in it. I said we don’t think to look at the fascinating side of things often enough, do we? It’s so easy to focus on the negative instead. But you’re right, this kind of gentle snowfall has a certain charm if only we choose to see it.

I didn’t look at the place where his left leg should have been, although my eyes wanted to. I didn’t let them. I didn’t ask him how long he’d been without it, or how hard it might be to get himself dressed in the morning and in and out of a vehicle and across a snowy rutted parking lot. And what do you do with all those left boots and shoes and pant legs? How horrible has your life been and how hard was this to accept?

I said none of those things that were in my head, because we were just two ordinary people having an ordinary conversation, being pleasant and accepting of each other the way we happen to be at this moment, no deep introspections required. He got his glasses back and he was on his way.

All afternoon I kept thinking good thoughts about snowflakes. I thought about those airy little bits of lace, there for a moment on the back of his glove, and how they made his face so blissful. His mood was so intoxicating, I wanted to give him a hug and thank him for that.

But I didn’t. I wish I had.

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