A Word From the Wise

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My mother-in-law treasured words. Scrabble was her game. Precision, patience, strategy. Tiles that scored both ways or landed on a triple made some sweet satisfaction. Sometimes points weren’t the point; defensive play wins games while openings encourage neophytes and friends. When she spoke, a few words said it all. Most often she meant to be kind. An invitation, a suggestion, wise words, sometimes firm redirection, sharp, if necessary.

She held onto words until the end. She gathered them slowly. It took time to retrieve them. They balked, hidden away from memory, supplemented by smiles and nods. The sentences were short. The meaning was clear.

Smoking on a Wet Evening

You know the way it rains at night after the dogs been out. After everybody settles near the fireplace, shoes kicked off, feet warming. That kind of night when, like as not, a banshee’ll slip in through the cracks in the ceiling and make herself at home.

Don’t disturb her. She’ll get loud, then. Nobody dies if she stays calm. Don’t be alarmed when she squats, knees up around her head, haunches down on the floor. Offer her a pipe. The one you’re smoking. It’s likely why she came. After a heavy drag, she’ll nod and disappear up the chimney.

Quince Blossoms on Bare Wood

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Quince flowers on a bare stick of a tree,
blooming in the dead of winter.
Coral colored buds against brown bark,
two elements, earth and water.

The blue aired sky, the fire orange sun. 
Air and sky and weft and warp.
The dogs sense a reckoning.
They raise their ears in a unified front with the four elements.

They yowl into song like actors in a musical.
At times like these, when winter seems eternal, when spirits flag,
when fear threatens to extinguish the elements of life,
we need a rousing score. A yellow brick road. A little dog, too.

Springiness Delayed

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Watch me spring forward and fall back, sleepy and dazed, assaulted by the time change.

I wish to stay in bed an extra hour. I can’t. The dogs can and do. The delay in daybreak confuses them. I understand because I’m confused as well.

It has been two weeks of gradual adjustment, falling asleep early, doing yoga in the dark. But the light keeps changing, the spring keeps springing, every day is longer than the last.

I am almost persuaded that the sun will shine bright and clear on the world’s dark doings. If not, give me back that hour.

Tucker Comes Out for News-Peak

The interviewer asked the obvious.

“You got that totally wrong. Hate is… well, I understand Trump. Same thing, isn’t it?” Tuck tucked a digit into the collar of his tight white shirt. Under the kleig lights, he became uncomfortably aware of his conscience. He recovered.

Hate is love. Was it Ayn Rand, one of her essays? A review of some book that Kevin Baby recommended? 1984, that was it.

Whatever. The ratings are waiting. “Now what I really hate, wokeness. Banking libs take their eyes off the ball…”

The interviewer asked the obvious.

“Not libertarians. Those guys are cool.”

Habitats for Butterflies

Before we go to the zoo, I memorize butterfly names from the books in my grandfather’s library. Tiger swallowtails, yellow and black, their wings majestic as they take flight from an aspen tree. Migrating monarchs drink from lupines.

Xerces blues exist only on paper, their permanent home on page 27, “Insects of San Francisco .” I slip the book back on the shelf and wish that someone had rescued the blues.

My grandfather is ready to cycle with me to the tram. He wears a kerchief over his nose to block the dust. “Used to be they lived in my fields.”

Is It Me or Them?

A week after my mom was buried, my friend, Agnes, started to resemble her. At first, it was just the nose. Then the eyes, including a dramatic change from brown to blue. Agnes grew wrinkled and unreasonable. She started arguments. I ghosted her and mourned the loss of my best friend.

One day, I picked up Agnes’s photo and did a double take. She pixelated into my mother. Then the pixels reverted to the original. Mesmerized, I watched the picture magic from one to the other until I couldn’t tell them apart. I wish I could let my mother go.

WW&Co Spells and Meals

Dear Ms. WW:

A formerly satisfied customer, your instant meals have saved my bacon when work emergencies and toddler meltdowns prevented me from putting a nutritious dinner on the toadstool. Unfortunately, last night’s Cricket Stroganoff seems more potion than stew. This morning I woke up with a warlock.

Lest you think my husband left me, I would submit that the warlock has warts. The pattern fits my husband’s down to the T on his back. Our favorite. In addition to a refund, please send an antidote to restore the love of my life to himself and me.

Yours,

Tabitha Toad

The Ragnarök

Líf and Lífþrasir lived in a tiny hovel on the side of a wild fjord north of the settled lands. Rippling through infinity, Thor came to them. He carried the couple to Hoddmimis holt. “From you, generations will spring.”

The gods went insane; a war of destruction, an ecological nightmare. Three winters arrived with no summers. Yggdirsil, the world tree, nurtured the couple. All the while, morning dew was their manna from heaven. Wandering, nestled in the warmth of moss, sheltered by the forest, emerging with the sun, nurtured by salt water, they rebuilt after the Ragnarök. They repopulated Earth.

Have You Heard This One?

Two wolves walk into a bar. The first says, “What a day.”

The second buys the drinks.

First one gets to talking. “I install air conditioners. My first job, the place is straw. When I test the unit, the whole place falls down. The pig’s suing me.

“The second house is twigs. I say I’m not doing it. Too dangerous. So he yells, ‘Breach of contract.’

“At the brick house, the guy’s a lawyer. Rants at me about how his brothers are taking me to court. So I eat him. Now I’ve got indigestion.”

The second says, “Have an antacid.”

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