White Forgiveness

Night has fallen as does the snow
hurts and regrets end with the day
erased by the white forgiveness
joy comes with this comforting blanket of snow

Desolation

I am not lovely like the hummingbird

cannot like the sparrow sing

no dove would mourn my absence

I cannot give my love away

let vultures then consume my heart

and crows pick at my flesh

if I could feed such noble fowls

I would not have passed in vain

 



It Leaves me to Wonder

Cruel silence

the snap of ice breaking a limb

jagged edge, no recovery

what was once desirous now a blemished memory

 

Blessed quiet

snow cushions a tormented heart

scales open, seeds drop

who is to say what will grow in compassionate soil



Depression is a Dragon

Dragons are fundamentally reptiles and reptiles are unique in that they can live quite some time without food or drink.  They grow by shedding their skin.  Just before this growth, they lie quite still and their outer covering begins to slough. You might think they are at death’s door and no longer needs their linctus.  At this time, they look not the least bit frightening and you might even feel sorry for them.  You want to tuck them into a comfortable bed and let them sleep late into the day, even until noon because they seem like they need more rest.  You give them special treats because they seem so sad and you just want to cheer them up: soda, donuts, white bread.  They seem as if they should be tucked in early but they can’t sleep after all that sugar so, you give them an Ambien CR.  Just once, but they sleep in again and look even more pitiful.  They’re so tired you don’t make them go out for a walk.  They don’t want to eat so you give them another treat because they have to eat something.  The cycle continues until, one morning, the dragon opens its fierce yellow eyes, unfolds its glittering wings, splitting its desiccated hide to reveal strong, supple armor.  It grasps you in its razor sharp talons and you are in the fight of your life. 

Kick, scream, call out for assistance with all your might.  You are not alone.  You have more friends than you realize.  Melancholy is a dragon and dragons are helpless against the stubborn love of a friend like me.  I know you don’t feel brave right now, but I do.  Sometimes it takes a while for a dragon to go back to sleep (they almost never die) but I know lots of lullabies and, while I don’t sing well, I sing loud and I will never give up on you.

Depression

 

gasping for breath in a maelstrom wind

surveying damage at the eye of a storm

earth shifting, ice pelting, snapping branches

sinking in mud, wanting nothing but sleep

hoping for dreams easier than being awake

things are bad, getting worse, but just for awhile

storms pass, trees bud, flowers bloom

it will be okay in the end

 

 



Pessimist

I’ve decided I’m no longer in love

it's my heart so it’s my decision to make

you refuse to accept what I have to offer

and you deny the small things that I ask

Let's Hear it for Hounds

From Somerset Magazine, January 2015

Dillanger, a bloodhound puppy

By REBECCA S. LINDEMAN

 

                My mother would never allow me to have a dog.  Odd, really, as she tolerated cats, guinea pigs, hamsters, turtles, fishes, rabbits, and even an oversized crayfish that escaped its container, never to be seen again.  Things were different at our father’s house; he raised coonhounds.  There were always at least six of them and, when we visited him on weekends, I’d beg to be allowed to let them loose and roam the woods in their company.

                Those were the best times of my childhood: alone in the woods but for dogs.  My favorite was a bluetick coonhound named Judge.  What a patient soul.  While the other dogs ran free, I almost always kept him on a leash.  It’s hard to know what was in my young  mind; was I worried that he would get lost or did I just want to be physically connected to him at all times?  It was most likely the latter.  When we weren’t out traipsing the hillside, I would often sit atop his dog house, reading and petting him.  I’d even go in there with him, that is, until I got caught and was forbidden with an admonishment that I’d surely get fleas.  I was rarely without oily black fingers from stroking his fur and would even spend hours rubbing his cold ears in the winter.

                My father and I were never close but I will be forever grateful that he made (and kept) a promise to never sell Judge and allowed him to be MY dog.  Dad was of a different mindset then, one which dictated that boys spent time with their father and girls with their mother.  About the only activity he allowed me to share was hunting.  What a pleasure it was to be out in the woods after dark, listening to the night sounds, anticipating the bay of the hounds when they caught the trail of a raccoon.  What a thrill to go crashing through the branches and brambles, following that sound to the tree which held their quarry.

                What came next was not as much to my liking but, even at that tender age, I recognized that hounds were designed for this exact purpose.  As gentle, loving, and even lazy as a hound can be, their first instict is to hunt.  This is the one thing every breed in group has in common and most of them possess an amazing fortitude, as well.  Once a hound sights its prey or catches a scent, it is quite difficult to get him to focus on anything else. 

                Hounds are divided into two categories: the sighthounds and the scenthounds.  It should be fairly obvious which sense is strongest in the divisions.  Sight hounds include the greyhound, borzoi, saluki, and Rhodesian ridgeback.  These breeds have very deep chests and tend to be very trim, which allows them to run fast and with great agility.  They are dolichocephalic (have long, narrow heads) and are able to detect even the slightest movement.

                The scenthounds tend to have long, drooping ears and fleshy jowls.  They include the coonhounds (black and tan, plot, bluetick, redbone, and walker), the beagle, basset and, interestingly, the dachshund.  It is thought that these characteristics help in gathering scent by forming a sort of funnel of all that loose skin that directs the molecules nose-ward.

                Why, you ask, do I think it’s interesting that the dachshund is in this group?  The dachshund has a curious mixture of traits that would make it fit into either the hound or terrier group.  The terriers are a feisty bunch, developed to hunt vermin.  They typically like to dig and there is even a sport called earthdog where they track their quarry through a series of underground tunnels.  For the most part, vermin refers to mice and rats but, in the case of the dachshund, it is the badger.  In fact, the literal translation of the name is “badger dog”.  If you’ve ever lived with this breed, I’m sure you can picture them digging into a badger’s den, picking a fight, and coming out the winner.    

Rebecca is the President & Executive Director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization dedicated to changing animals' lives by providing assistance in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit http://www.ethelfund.org or https://www.facebook.com/TheEthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.

 

Cosmic

Photo borrowed from Bing

 

Suffering  a terminal ache to feel precious

standing in the small protection of a pine

biting whirling auger wind only deepens our despair

turn away from learned men and look into the sky

maybe the touch of this remarkable cosmos should be enough

 

 

Weird Runs in the Family

I’m thinking of running away

and I’m wondering where I should go

maybe to Tennessee but

they make me sleep in a dungeon

and the steps are really steep

the lady of the house has multiple personalities

and she is getting really fat

the man of the house worries sometimes

and that is really sweet

but his hobby is making wooden spoons

and I am frightened of them

because my mother used them to whip our behinds

there’s a rumor he infected his wife with a parasite

that’s so ferocious he’s named after a wolf

and they’re going to give him a room of his own

I’m thinking of running away

but I think I’ll wait a few days

probably about twenty-one

 

 

A Hornet's Nest

Photographed 12-31-2014

 

This is likely the nest of the bald-faced hornet, Dolichovespula maculata.  Contrary to the name, it is not a hornet at all but is, rather, a yellow jacket.  Furthermore, the bald-faced hornet is not yellow; it is black and white. However, all of the above are wasps.  The nest of the European wasp is similar but, without the insects, it is impossible for me to identify with certainty.  (I have chosen the bald faced hornet because it is native to the US and the European was is introduced).

 

By this time of the year, only the fertilized queens are alive and overwintering in protected areas such as rock piles, leaf litter, tree holes, or buildings.  In the spring, the queen will begin to chew rotting and weathered wood and other plant fibers, mixing them with her saliva to make a paper nest consisting of just a few cells in a hexagonal pattern where she will lay her first eggs.  This is referred to the founding stage.  The queen raises the foundlings herself but, once they pupate and emerge as adults, they will take over the duties of enlarging and protecting the nest, as well as feeding future generations of larvae.  The queen will then devote the rest of her life to laying eggs and the ergonomic stage begins.

Only female workers are produced during this stage. All females are born with reproductive capacities and caste systems (whether they will be queens or workers) are determined by larval feeding regime.  Workers are unable to mate but they lay unfertilized eggs that produce the males.  About halfway through the life cycle of the colony, males and future queens are produced, thus begins the reproductive stage.

Adults feed primarily on items rich in sugars and carbohydrates, such as fruits, flower nectar, and tree sap, while larvae are fed proteins, such as insects, meats, and fish. Adult workers chew and condition the meat fed to the larvae. Larvae, in return, secrete a sugar material relished by the adults; this exchange is a form of trophallaxis (similar to us raising cows for milk).

The colony’s life cycle ends as winter approaches with the death of the workers and original queen (males live only long enough to mate and die afterward).  The new queens leave the nest to find a protected place to overwinter before beginning colonies of their own

My Promise to a Friend

Your choice of word to describe your life

rips at the fibers of my soul.

I don’t pretend to understand your heart

am barely acquainted with your mind

but with certainty I know you are my friend

so here I stand beside you and in silence take your hand.

you need not walk this road alone

unless that is your choice

in which case I will remain at a respectful distance

just close enough that you can change your mind.

Another Perspective

What a beautiful sight

at the close of a day

that ushers in the cold, bracing air

the Wolf Moon calls to me

and I answer in song

my joy at being alive

Alone and Wondering

As another day comes to an end

I find myself, once again, alone.

you keep your silence.

you withhold your touch.

and you don’t even know who I am.

you are my friend and I am afraid

that you would reject me as well

so I’ll keep my silence

and just dream of your touch

and wonder if you might, somehow, feel the same.

 

 



Broken

I think I’m ready to give up now

perhaps I don’t deserve what others have

I will claim that it’s all for the best

it was never meant to be

but my heart is just as broken

and even I do not believe my lies

The Brittle Truth

 

 

And there it is

my heart laid bare

vulnerable now

kept hidden and restrained

for all these many years

will you be kind

and consent to my affection

or will you quietly walk away