The gentle slope from the lift allows me to find a place without skier traffic. I take in the magnificent view below — a village nestled in the pines, to an expanse of a muted brown, deep green and mauve rural valley. A chilled wind adds pink to my face. Another swipe of chapstick protects my lips, a swig of water trickles down my throat like fuel for the ride downhill.
Neither a closed window nor locked door kept me trapped inside. I roamed my godparent’s neighborhood at midnight or stretched out on the crabgrass and watched shooting stars. Imaginative thoughts found their way on paper. Music, any kind of music, was mine to hear. Eye makeup. Long hair. Fashion boots. Tight jeans.
Much too early to leave the soft, warm bed.Six pounds of Siamese cat, however, insists.Her velvet brown paw taps my lips,Her purr, […]
…researchers discovered that awe brought on “a reduced sense of self-importance relative to something larger and more powerful that they felt connected to,” and that “a naturalistic induction of awe in which participants stood in a grove of towering trees enhanced prosocial helping behavior and decreased entitlement compared to participants in a control condition.”
There’s an itch within me for some lies too. But not the kind of lies that make headlines. No. My crave is for fictional tales that run the gamut from historical fiction, fantasy, and some chick-lit for those times when I’ve just had enough of the humans on Planet Earth.
The behavior of some humans definitely rankled my patience. I wish it would’ve rained more. The garden was less than mediocre. And every holiday and celebration lacked the sparkle of champagne.
Frigid and white,
like political lies,
winter’s high notes
fall from the sky.
Naked Earth rests
beneath ivory down,
A row of popular blow mold Christmas characters, cleverly displayed at eye level, caught Charlie’s attention. “Look, Santa lights up!” Charlie exclaimed as he caressed a 13” fat Santa with his black bag of goodie at his side.
You see, I’m a purebred seal point Siamese. Most of my story has been lost because I don’t speak Hooman, just Siamese. The mysteries of my early years were partially unraveled by yesterday’s x-rays of my mouth. My hooman asked the veterinarian’s assistant, “With that many fractured teeth, do you suppose Chai might have been kicked by somebody?” She asked that because I freak out and hide when my man hooman wears work boots. The nice assistant said, “Yes, that’s possible.”
I’m not one to sulk and wallow in my own misery. So I switched to my 300 mm lens. Some interesting activity up the beach caught my eye. I zoomed in on the scene. Suddenly I forgot about my morning conversation with my physician. A pod of brown pelicans — maybe close to a hundred, the males in their colorful mating plumage, and the females seemingly enjoying the attention, beckoned Oly and I to get a little closer.
