Slacker Nights

I haven't written before bed for the last 2 nights and I wasn't going to post again today but I feel guilty when I don't so here I am. I'm sinking a bit into the mid-winter doldrums so it's easy to think that no one reads what I write anyway so why do it. I know that isn't true. I know you're all out there panting to read my new thoughts and free writes. I can't let you down. (geez, drama queen much, barbara?) I've been feeling like I've lost my hold on time, that it's whizzing by and I slide on through without being in it. Remember being bored? I do, but I can't seem to get there lately. I can't seem to find quiet, to sit in silence and feel. I'm guessing this might be denial, so I'll just keep paddling along (de Nile, get it?) and keep breathing. Maybe if it'd warm up a bit and snow I could get my snowshoes up and take a spin around the house. Tonight I'll go to knitting so I can do an hour's yoga (I already paid for it), I guarantee that'll make me feel better. And I'll borrow Don's van this afternoon to take Tuesday's load of donations over to Goodwill, that'll feel good to. And I've got a whole garbage bag of acrylic yarn for the other knitters to paw through before I donate it. I'll make it through, don't you worry, I just have to complain a bit while I do. Thanks for listening.

Blizzard

the blanket of winter
flailing in the wind.

Flakes dance a mad fandango
before the gusts,

build scalloped drifts
that echo

their liquid brethrn's
rush to the sand,

knit ragged scarves of white
that waylay inattentive travelers.

Flying in the squall,
rattling the panes,

creaking the bones of the frames
in their tracks,

wind-driven martyrs
sacrifice themselves,

on the bodies of their comrades
piled on the sill.
~~~~~

I've hemmed Em's picnic cloth and now I'm going to go knit a row or two of sweater front. January's fleeing and I'm nowhere near done with that sweater. Dammit.
--Barbara