Skip to main content

A BLUE NORTHER...


I was wandering through the woods
in late fall admiring the trees
adorned in their many colors
when a blue norther surprised me.
I sought refuge behind a huge trunk
as the cold wind swept the land.
I huddled in self-protection.
I thought the skies had opened also,
but when I opened my eyes,
leaves and not rain were showering me.
For two hours I didn't move
until the wind slackened.
I rose and looked around me.
I was stunned by the change
in the panorama.
Nothing but bare branches
hung over me.
I pulled my coat closer.
Soon an Arctic zephyr
would sweep my world,
reducing me to little more
than skin and bones.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

LANGUAGES...

The master spent long hours learning many languages, yet he never traveled to foreign countries. In fact, he seldom strayed outside his village except to wander through the countryside. His ardor for languages mystified his disciples. The master was ambling through the corridors when one of his disciples found the courage to stop him and ask: "O Venerable One, forgive me for my impertinence, but why do you learn these languages, yet you never talk to anyone in these foreign tongues? "You are wrong, my son." "Then with whom do you speak, O Venerable One?" "I converse with myself, my son."
Post a Comment
Read more

WRITING...

The master spent a part of each day writing. He would reread his words, then close his notebook. "What do you write about?" asked a monk. "I write about you," answered the master. "Me? What do you write about me?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Nothing." "And when you write about yourself, what do you write?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Nothing." The master embraced the monk. They shared much in common."
Post a Comment
Read more

THE EXECUTIONER...

The master watched the soccer game from the sidelines. He had learned to walk and kick a ball at the same time. He was a capable midfielder in his prime. He understood the art of sharing the ball. Offensive players wanted him on their team because he evenly distributed the ball and had an innate skill to make the perfect pass at the most opportune moment. In his youth nobody electrified the crowd like The Executioner. He was a swift athlete who could dribble and shoot with both feet. He earned his nickname because he never pardoned a goalie by squandering a scoring chance. It had been several months since the master had seen The Executioner. He was old and hobbled by age, but he never failed to take his evening walk even though each step he took hardly evoked the legend he once was. "Don't you miss those days, Executioner, when nobody was your equal on the pitch?" the master asked his enfeebled idol after crossing his path by chance. "I have been ins...
Post a Comment
Read more