The Old Woman and Old Man Winter

 

 

She pulls on a once black winter parka awash with salt stains from too many Midwestern winters, and then walks out the door into another sub-zero day.

The familiar squeaky crunch of white Sorrel boots pounding the dense snowpack provides a perfect serenade as she slowly marches down her long driveway towards the rusty mailbox.

This Minnesota native soon discovers that the three pairs of woolen socks inside don’t prevent the dampness or provide much warmth anymore.

Storm after storm have worn them all weary, as is she.

After successfully navigating one final ice patch, she fumbles with her mittens and the Thinsulate gloves underneath to pull out her large snow encrusted heat and electric bills from inside the frozen box, and also one small brightly colored postcard from Florida.

As the old woman turns to walk back up to her home, a wicked wind grabs her pretty postcard and sends it flying to the south.

With a fist in the air she screams, “And I live here, why?”

Muttering to herself, she then softly answers, “I guess it’s because I never left.”

And with that she smiles, and then laughs while catching a wet snowflake on her tongue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuck, Tink, and a Toy

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Tuck’s 84 in dog years, still he’s such a little boy.”

His stocking’s hung on high again. He’s asking for a toy.

“A raw hide too would sure be sweet,” he told his sister Tink.

“So get that list to Santa quick! You’ll miss him if you blink.”

 

Wishing and hoping

 

 

 

The stockings are hung.

Her Christmas plate’s handy.

She hopes there’s no coal.

Perhaps some puppy candy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday’s Blues

 

No difference if you’re big or small.

Mondays call for belly rubs for all.

 

Autumn gifts

As autumn wanes the leaves will fall.
In spite of rain we doubt that’s all.
I lift my eyes and search beyond.
Great gifts remain so near my pond.

The old man’s return?

I know that it’s fall.
It’s there on the wall.
And still I’ve heard much talk of snow.
I’ll look for my cap.
Though I’d prefer a long nap.
Old man winter has plenty of gall!

Our day of rest?

Sunday is our day of rest.
That’s why I like this day the best.
Yet my old rake’s about to call.
Since autumn’s leaves have begun to fall.
Perhaps it’s time to move out west?

Politics and a pasture

I’m not sure why, but the older I get the more I find myself talking to animals.

Especially the gentler ones.

I spent a sunny afternoon this week atop a hill overlooking a peaceful pasture with a flock of sheep.

I escape to this special spot when the volume of politics in Washington and the rest of the country is turned up too high. And I often need a additional dose when the mud slinging gets particularly messy and stinky during our campaign seasons.

So as I sat alongside my sweet friends, I began to share my woes about all the nasty political noise. The sheep then bleated, baaed and bowed in great sympathy.

At least I like to think they did, though my rational side knows they can’t possibly understand me. After all, I know sheep were labeled stupid years ago.

Yet sometimes it’s like a breath of fresh air for me just to vent.

“And what about that Senate hearing Thursday on the Supreme Court nominee? The insults back and forth in this country are sure to get extra ugly,” I asked one approachable curly haired two some.

“Just what are we to do?” I pleaded.

The two sheep looked back at me for a moment, and then at each other smiling.

Suddenly, and perhaps wisely, one of them quickly turned the other cheek.

Well, it seems most animals, like people, really can teach us something.

And especially those dear ones who have been wrongly labeled stupid.

Wednesday’s Lamb

The weekend’s only two days away.
Just keep the faith. You know we’ll play.
Locked gates will open to such great fun.
And if we’re lucky, we’ll play in sun.

Peace in a pasture

Is there anything better than spending an autumn afternoon with friends under the shade of an old oak tree?

I’m thinking not.