Thursday, December 10, 2009
watercolor pic by D. Bowden
I just LOVE the holiday season with all the colorful lights and decorations. Every year I have to put up my seasonal decorations alone. No one helps me except if I order them to go bring up the boxes from the basement. That is a big help, but it would be nice if some people who live here were a bit more enthusiastic about giving me a hand with things like untangling the several strands of lights that manage to get all jumbled together even though I take great care to place them SEPARATELY in the box so as to be easy the following year. But something happens to them during the year while they are stored away in the closet. It's as if an imp or fairy gets inside the boxes and tangles up the lights to cause me a big pain in the ass each and every year!
I know I am not alone here. There are songs written about the frustration of detangling and stringing holiday lights on tree branches. So, why do I bother? Why do I continue with this tradition even though I am not a religious person? Because, it's PRETTY!
It makes me happy to see all the festive lights and all the colors giving the world a magical look. It's the celebration of the winter season. Everyone is happy (once the shopping is done) and it's a time of warmth and sharing and getting together with those we love. It's pretty songs, and bells and if we are lucky...powdery snow that glistens like diamonds under the streetlights.
While I am struggling with the stupid lights each year, swearing like a sailor stuck in a threatening storm, I have in the back of my mind how wonderful it will all look when everything is decorated, lit and beautiful as winter itself.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
by D. Bowden
All the leaves are falling round
Drifting, piling on the ground.
Red and gold and purple hues,
Hiding any summer clues
That are left from yesterday
When all the children were at play,
Cheering with voices merry
Amongst the strong green willow trees.
Days grow shorter, evenings cool,
The children are all back in school.
With their noses in their books,
Out the windows stealing looks,
Longing for those summer days
And for endless, carefree ways.
They have a long time to await
Till winter winds and snows abate
And springtime flowers bloom anew
A new season starts for me, and you.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I lay awake
My creative mind is stirring
Thoughts come quickly
I have to put them on paper
Before they fade
And the light of daytime melts them
That disrupt imagination
And stop the flow
Of my mind's wonderous wanderings
Most of us children were terrified to go near the "haunted house" where it was said that ghostly figures peered from behind dirty window panes and ratty lace curtains. Some kids even claimed to have seen an eerie white figure of a man come outside on the dilapidated porch to collect old newspapers that accumulated by the weather-beaten door, although whenever I cautiously walked by on the other side of the street, the newspapers were still there in a rotting heap. But I would have sworn on the grave of my great-grandfather that I saw the ghost of a tall man on two occasions, once on the porch and once watching me from an upstairs window.
Halloween was a particularly popular night for the old house with children double-daring each other to walk past the house on the sidewalk directly in front of it., or for an even braver challenge, to walk right up onto the porch and peer inside, OR for the greatest dare of all, to actually knock on the front door!
One time, as I have been told (for I was not an actual witness to this event), a class big-shot and bully accepted the challenge and in an air of pretending not to be afraid, he knocked boldly on the door with three hard pounds of the tarnishes brass door-knocker. As he turned around to laugh smugly at his friends hiding in the bushes at a safe distance across the street, the paint-peeled door opened with a loud and eerie squeak and out walked an old gray-haired man wearing a tattered, faded bathrobe! He didn't need to say a word or shake an angry fist. What I was told, the boy's feet never touched the ground as he fled, screaming at the top of his lungs and his friends who had been hiding in the bushes were way ahead of him.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
As I snapped photos through the window he gazed over his shoulder at me for a few moments before shifting his position and turning his back to me. He wasn't about to pose for a pretty picture. What he wanted was to just be left alone. He wasn't going to pound his great chest with his mighty fists and put on a show. He had done that in his young days, but now he wasn't putting on any more shows.
I feel a sadness for this creature.
Down to the ground
Like tears from the clouds
Drenching the crowds
As they hustle through the streets
Scurrying to meet
Their trains and taxi cabs
That will take them to
Their peaceful retreats
Where they all can play
And forget about the day
As the rain taps, taps, taps
On the window panes
They are warm and dry
And for awhile, tranquil and secure.