2020’s Five Luminous Gifts

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.

Winter’s Bite

Frigid and white,

like political lies,

winter’s high notes

fall from the sky.

Naked Earth rests

beneath ivory down,

The Real Plastic Santa

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.

My Name is Chai

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.”

Taking Wing Over Cancer

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.

Like a Wistful Primrose

Like golden butterflies, aspen leaves flicker in themorning breezethat dares the sun to crawlabove the mountain peaksas it announces its intentionwith kaleidoscope []

Gotcha, Goldfinch!

Illusive gold-festoonedfeathers,taunt the lens,tease my focus,escape digitalcapture. Flighty symbol of joy,a flash,a dodger,winging through sage,a dashing balletmastered.

Cancer’s Carousel Ride

A week ago, the chemo curls were long enough to where I pulled out my hair product and accessories. I felt like a girl again. Less than a week ago, knowing the nightmare of watching my hair fall out and me too vain to have it shaved, I went in for the hip-grandma look of what is essential a female’s butch cut. This halted some of my joy. It halted some of my fantasy that I was a normal person again—like one who doesn’t live her life around cancer every day.