The We of Christmas Trees

Artificial this tree may be,
But it is a living thing to me.

Each needle a nerve
Each branch a vein
The trunk a heart
All nurture our history.

Forked branches tell of paths
Each twig bears a thing
Decisions made
Priceless memories.

First Christmas together
Children of our loins
Places we have seen
Blessings known by we.

Shiny baubles our joys
Crafted pieces our values
Green our everlasting love
Lights our energy,

Alien Cannabis

I spotted a news headline touting the astonishing scientific discovery that cannabis contains alien life forms.

While I wholly endorse all things green and natural I can't help but suspect the researchers were overindulging in the test samples.  The conversation might have gone like this:

Hey man, this stuff is alive!  Come over here and look in the microscope.

What - you mean the way it's breathing?

Breathing? What? No man, look at the little spot off to the top right.

What about it - it's just a seed.

No, no. Keep looking - you'll see...

Oh, dude, no way!  That little guy just waved to me!

Which Is It?

Witness to devastation or search for reassurance - which is it that pulls us to the sandy barrier between ocean and population after a battering storm?

For myself I must confess it's a little of both.

I'm always awed at the way nature can change miles of landscape with a single swipe of turbulent weather. There is an inability to comprehend how water can move hundreds of tons of sand in increments of sixty minutes. And just how does wind lift a piece of driftwood from the beach and drive it through the siding of a house a quarter mile away?

As intriguing as it is to see these things I want to see someplace else - not at the beach I visit. Yes I know every beach is somebody's beach but I want mine to be special. I want to know that when summer arrives the waters of high tide will stay where they belong - at the edge of the sand, not over it. I want to know that despite nature's temperament I still have my place of solace and rejuvenation.

Now if I could just get mother nature to see things my way.....

It's All About the Noise

Personally I think Donald Trump's "campaign" for the presidency has been a brilliant commentary on the state of what elections in the U.S. have become - noise.

Politicians talk to us constantly - they tell us they are sympathetic to a hefty listing of plights, they tell us what somebody else did wrong, and what America needs to do right (that's America in general - not the politician specifically). Ultimately it is rare that words match deeds. And so, to many an American, all of that talk is just background chatter -the kind of friendly bantering that takes place over drinks with your friends at the bar knowing all but the occasional gem of an idea will be forgotten come dawn.

Trump has brilliantly  demonstrated that to catch the attention of America a politician has to be louder than the back chatter. A politician has to SHOUT - content doesn't matter, in fact the more ridiculous the content the longer the SHOUT echoes in the minds of Americans.

Presidential campaigns feed Americans information via TV, radio, print & electronic publications, Facebook, Twitter - it's like watching the perpetually running ticker at the stock exchange - a blur of data until something JUMPS OUT.

Trump has shown us that the way to JUMP OUT is to toss shiny baubles. Like fish we are lured to investigate - and then we're hooked. Hooked by the ludicrousness of the Donald Trump Traveling Circus. The audience grows and grows - people wanting to see just how crazy things will get. 

The worrisome thing is that the Iowa Caucus should have shown us that deep down voters see the Trump campaign for the flim-flam that it is.  Trump should have been the guy with 10 percent of the votes. Instead, he's hanging tough - Americans are fixated on the noise.

Captain's Cottage

The window in the eyebrow dormer of the cottage was a dark eye peering from beneath a wind-sculptured layer of snow. The red paint on the window frame was flaking and sections of  silver-gray cedar siding were curling away from the sheathing beneath. On the first floor, moonlight reflected dully in the smudged windows flanking the heavy front door. The narrow portico sheltering the entrance to the cottage listed to the left.

In contrast to the exterior disrepair, my flashlight revealed an inviting interior. I could imagine a time when a ship's captain sat pulled up to a sturdy oak table puffing on a pipe and studying charts by the light of an oil lamp.

Aroma Embrace

It gathered me up the moment I set foot in the house, the welcoming aroma of home made soup that had been simmering for hours.

Even before I closed the door the January cold was forgotten. As many images flashed through my mind as there were spices in the soup. A country kitchen with blazing hearth and a trestle table set with simmering bowls, an upholstered chair with a jumbled afghan in the seat, my grandmother conducting dinner preparations with a wooden spoon.

Giving myself over to the comforting embrace of special memories I forgot to shed my coat on the way to the dining room. I dropped it next to my chair, a jumble of fabric just like the pictured afghan. Then I dropped myself into a chair and inhaled the aromatic steam rising from the porcelain bowl. An aroma that promised a real time embrace after dinner.

Signs of the Times

It used to be that the instructional signs on interstates and highways read:  Keep Right Except to Pass
Recently, in our area at least, the new message is: Slower Traffic Keep Right
Which suggests that those who monitor our roadways are admitting that posted speed limits have become guidelines rather than requirements - and that drivers who can't deal with it need to get the hell out of the way.

Why Wait?

Social media has been flooded with David Bowie tributes today.  While music appreciators have collectively mourned the loss of a talented artist they have also celebrated the music David Bowie gifted us with.

It's not an uncommon occurrence - sharing in grief - but technology has exponentially increased the impact. People around the world are brought together in a finite time period and the results are - well nothing short of amazing.

But why wait for tragic circumstances to come together as a community of music artists and music appreciators?  Why not celebrate annually  those uniquely gifted artists that cross generations?

Arrival Days they would be called. The anniversary of the day an exceptional artists first made his, her, or their impact. On Arrival Days we, as a worldwide community would share the impacts those artists have had on our lives - and the artists themselves could benefit from the world giving back.