Tree reflections in red Studebaker
Hello again, dear friends and family.
Ready for the daily update?
First of all, Upper Michigan languishes in gray. We’ve talked about this before. Gray skies, blueish gray snow, gray faces, gray dispositions. OK, I’m kind of kidding about the gray faces, but everything else is accurate.
We’ve seen the sun briefly. It peeks its head out from the clouds, sticks out its yellow tongue, and disappears again. Sometimes it stays around for a few hours, but rarely. We all need to take Vitamin D-3. Ask my dad. It’s especially good for us cloud-covered northern dwellers.
I took dozens of icicle photos to show you today. But guess what? Only one turned out halfway decent. All the others looked like gray blurriness. What else can we expect on a gray day?
Icicles from the garage roof
Because the icicle photos refused to cooperate and because I have nothing else to say, I am going to paste & copy a poem. One of my spiritual-type poems shared elsewhere on this on-line world. (You were spared my poetry last year because none really fit appropriately into the outdoor blog.)
I even took photos to accompany the poem. Here we go:
House made of cards
Our house of should and shouldn’t
Remember when, on a lark, we built that house of cards?
Mama showed us how to lean the King of Spades
against the Queen of Hearts.
On our knees, laughing, we created our flimsy house.
You grabbed the ten of diamonds; shouted “up!”
I found the ten of clubs
Each card gleamed in lamplight as we built,
carefully, just so, a magic creation,
don’t upset the pack.
“I am!” you shrieked.
“I’m not!” I screamed.
For hours we played, months, full-mooned years.
Better than pick-up sticks, our favorite game,
our house of should and shouldn’t.
One day a lifetime later you brood in the game,
distraught, annoyed, weary.
“It’s not real!” you whisper suddenly
and with swishing arms
knock the whole thing down.
You laugh suddenly, your eyes lighting up,
joy on your face.
“Real,” I say softly as you scamper away.
I kneel with cards scattered across the hardwood,
trying desperately to re-construct the house.
The Jack refuses to support anyone.
The two card flutters into its own heart.
The house is gone.
Yet I sit here still, trying, trying,
while you wash dishes, carry laundry.
Yes, cards everywhere
Poetry Post Script. After I threw the cards all around and randomly turned over the Queen of Hearts and the Joker…guess what song came on the radio immediately thereafter?
It is a strange and synchronistic world.