Vicious Cycle

Working is a vicious cycle if you are working just for money. But who has the luxury to work for fun? So I continue to look hoping to find a job. Continue to look waiting for the next rejection. All the while still needing money. Such a vicious cycle.

Telling

Mom sat on the couch, pulling yarn from the ball on the floor. I could hear her silently counting her stitches. She sat busily adding more yarn to her project while listening to the TV. I don't rightly remember the exact thing that was being broadcast that night, most likely a Made for TV Movie; she had been favoring all the hyped up ones, watching one saga then the next as they played their time on the small screen. The dramatic music and heart felt lines did nothing to add to my courage. I was shaking in my shoes. I kept looking at her from the corner of my eye. I had to tell her. There was no way I could not. I was never gifted with the subtle art of starting difficult conversations.  The couple times I thought I found the nerve, I ended up finding my fingernails extremely engaging. I remember feeling my stomach sinking as I opened my mouth to speak. The words didn't come out, I thought I wasn't going to get this done, as I quickly closed my mouth again. I thought about how I could put this off and not worry about it, except that I could not put this off or not worry about it. Finally I turned in my chair, directly facing Mom and simply said, "Mom, I am pregnant." No preamble, no hitting it soft and warming up to it. Just out there, on the table. And only as a child can define in her own mother's eyes, I saw the emotions roiling around in hers. Most of them I did not understand, or recognize, but there was no mistaking the anger. And the disappointment.

Aurora

Waking to a sky of green, color lighting the natural scene.
Kelly ribbons do surround, like a gift heaven bound.
Waves of light rolling far and wide, washing over like a tide.
Rest your head and try to dream, visions of Aurora you've seen.

I Hate Being Alone

"I hate being alone!" She yelled at the top of her lungs from her doorway.

It was the same every morning. She would get up, open the wooden door to her cabin wrapped in a large brown over coat, stand on the tips of her bare toes and yell this epitaph at the valley below.The ritual would be the only pomp and circumstance that began her day.

Following her rousing display, she would start the fire in the wood stove; toss in a little kindling, stack the logs and strike a match. After setting the water to boil in the old grey kettle, she would slip into her clothes. Durable pants that were well worn, but in good repair. Depending on the weather she would layer with a sweater over her nondescript shirt. Breakfast was quietly eaten at the table, leading to the rinsing of her morning dishes quietly at the kitchen window.

The day was only varied by season. A quick walk around searching for Spring willows to gather budding leaves. A sunny Summer trek to the creek with her fishing gear for a few salmon to be divided between smoking and dinner for that night. The crisp Fall day hike to the open rolling hills to add meat to the pantry. A serene Winter expedition to the trap-lines, quiet and calming in an ethereal landscape.

Every evening she chopped logs to add to her wood pile. She would hunt for holes her in clothes and do her mending. She would repair the handles and tools, clean her rifle, add moss to the door jams to keep out the wind, fill the lamps with oil; what ever it took keep going, she did it.

The rain was coming down in sheets, with no pressing matters at hand, she grabbed the shovel she had set aside next to the stove and bookshelf. The handle had become loose from the blade and on her last trip to town she had picked up a couple bolts and nuts. As she raised the handle it dislodged the shelf from the wall. Down rained the small collection of books, like the weather outside the window.

Thinking of ways to shore up the shelf for the books, she started to pick up them up. Looking down on the two small stacks on the table she realized she was holding a thesaurus. Pausing, she sat down on the chair and started to thumb through the tome. With an idea driving her on she reached for the pad of paper and a pencil and began to write, momentarily forgetting the shovel.

The sun was just peaking through the clouds and the air smelled like clean fresh life, in only the way it can after a good rainy day. She got up, wrapped herself in the large overcoat, opened the wooden door and stood at the tips of her toes. "I love being...", her voice faltered  Her complete attention was focused and waiting, watching a tall figure in a long brown overcoat walking up the pathway to her cabin.

The Storm

The sound of the birds had just stopped, the wind was still. If I had not been on the same trail for the last 40 minutes struggling my way up, I would of thought I had stepped into a different world. I was so glad the sun had sneaked behind the clouds as I had not thought to bring an over abundance of water with me on this hike. Long grass stood still on the west side of the path, guarding the small brook that was offering the only noise besides my boot steps.

I could see the top of the saddle getting closer. Seeing this sight gave me new energy. The thought of stopping and heading back down occurred to me long ago. I had considered making an excuse such as it was getting late and dark. But remembering that June in Alaska can pin you for being a liar like that, I had pushed on. Once I rounded that corner and saw my objective, I felt a new determination build in me. Grass faded to soft mossy ground and lichen covered rocks. Passing a small pile of shale and dirt next to a small hole, it reminded me that I had not heard any ground squirrels in a while, not to mention this was the first burrow I had seen in some time as well. Pulling my thoughts from a slow creeping feeling of desolation, I slowed my steps as I realized I had made it to the top.

Reaching this goal gave me a sense of elation. I knew I'd love the view, as I looked back over the trail I had just conquered like a Roman army that had marched over an Alpine pass. I felt accomplished and big. I wanted to 'rawr', but then I remembered how I loved looking over the edge of the ridge to the other side, so I turned around. As I moved forward, I noticed the clouds kissing the peaks on the other side of the valley. I had wondered if I would get rained out, but knowing the clouds over my head were not dark kept me going. Heavy clouds drifting on the other side of the valley were nothing but foreboding. I stood there taking in the scene before me, making mental notes. I could hear the river below, rushing toward the Inlet. That quiet little side valley had much more housing development then I had last remembered. I saw a small narrow road leading to a parking lot and barely visible trail that cut through the trees. The end result of that hike stopped at pristine aquamarine lake, set up in the bowl of the valley. The pure clearness of the lake paled in comparison to my building awe of what I realized that lay before me.

Those dark clouds, swirling slowly away from my position, suddenly gave a loud rumble. I had never experienced thunder in this manner before. Being on the ground, away from the stormy clouds as they rush past your house and rumbled is nothing compared to being near the seat of God and FEELING the rumble move though the sky. There were no visible precursor to this rumble so it's sudden appearance had taken me aback. I stopped seeing anything else the beautiful valley below me had to offer, only seeing the storm moving past those distant peaks. The mountain and valley reverberated again with the sound of thunder. You could almost see the sound rolling through the dark clouds, boiling with turmoil. I gasped, the first rumble had stunned me, but this second peal took my breath away. Standing in complete and utter awe, not feeling the hike of the last hour and half, not caring about how I had felt just 10 minutes ago. I was under the spell of small Alaskan thunder storm, typically they are nothing to write home about. But being at the base of the sky, and sharing this with only the surrounding mountain peaks made me feel like the small and insignificant human being.

The air felt heavy, and deep, like a low pressure storm that threatens to take your world away. Thinking it was my shock of the booms and rumbles sounding from the clouds, until realized that I could feel the effects of the storm as well. A flash of light stopped my heart for the barest moment, then not half a second later the loudest rapport made its entrance, and traveled across the cloudy sky. I should of been in complete fear and made my way down the trail, hoping I didn't become a human slice of toast, but I could not move. I felt the power, and wanted to see more. I had realized that my lips were moving and could hear myself in a stunned whisper repeating over and over "oh my God, oh my God." I meant it too. I felt in the presence of a deity who could smite me for not being the good minion and doing as he said. Trying to stop myself from the quieted chant, a soft rumble traveled from the furthest point away, across the valley to my ridge and it silenced me. I wanted to feel washed over by rain, feel it on my face, but it never came. It was only for the valley to feel washed and anointed, not the little person on the lip of the valley witnessing the strength of nature.

I don't know how long I stood there, I don't remember how many thundering booms I had heard, or how many bolts of cloud to cloud lightening that danced in the sky. I just remember that there is always something out there bigger than yourself and in an instant it can command your life with it's every whim, and you haven't the power to stop it.

The Last

Laying in his bed, his old tired eyes looking up at her. The pale blue eyes trying to give her strength with just a look. The soft beeping of the monitors started to slow. She held his hand, holding her breath. His last thought was of how he always loved looking into those brown eyes.

She was sleeping soundly in the folds of the down comforter. As he silently buttoned his shirt, he watched her sleep. He scanned the hotel room to make sure he didn't forget anything. Turning from the softly closed door, he slipped his ring back on his finger. His phone was blinking the reminder of the doctor's appointment on the screen as he pocketed the phone.

All the giggling had left them out of breath. The 5 girls were in various types of sleepwear with hair half made in attempts to copy the hairstyles of the fashion magazines strewn across the floor. The remnants of the stuffed animal war was visible. The pyramid of canned drinks guarded the door from prying little brothers. Every one of them were so excited that the following Tuesday was the first day of high school and new adventures.

The loud music in the car helped relax her after the long day waiting on tables. The darkness of the car lit up each time a message was received  Normally she held off the temptation of seeing who was talking to her. She thought a moment before picking up the phone and hit the message icon. Relief flooded over her face as she realized the party was starting late due to the guest of honor being late. As headlights flooded her door window she never got to see why.

Autumn

The breeze gently push some dark strands back into her face. As she brushed her hair back, her fingers traced over her chilled, pink cheeks. Clair's steps were relaxed but steady, so she could take in the season. Occasionally she would look up to see the waves of colors above her head. Green was not obvious any longer, taken over by the gentle yellows and oranges in the tree tops. Every once in a while, an spinning orange or golden leaf would pirouette around her, including her in the Autumn dance, stopping her walk long enough to watch the leaf finish at it's destination.

The leaves made a beautiful crunch sound under her soft boots as she followed the trail. The discarded foliage lined the trail, with a few leaves trying out their boating skills on the small puddles that dotted the dirt path. She slowly approached the clearing. Pausing before she quietly step in, the moment unfolded in slow motion.

The wind held it's breath as she made her way to the very center of the clearing. The short green grass was damp with dew, she left a foot print trail as she walked. She stopped and held out her arms, as if to start the orchestra on the first movement, and as she started slowly turning, the wind started again.

Down rained the yellow and golden leaves, swirling in the air as one. Moving together, set to silent ballet. They enveloped her completely until she was gone from sight. She giggled audibly, the only sound beside the rustling of the leaves. The leaves suddenly fell to the ground, covering the green ground and she was gone.

The Anger

Seething. The kind of anger that twists your stomach in a low, dark heat. Like the cinders at the end of a campfire, you can feel them burning the weak charred wood. You can hear the coals crackling from need for the imperceptible flame to feed and continue.

I don't have the guts to look at you while you sit there. I am consciously willing to control myself from dangerous impulses. Almost a pure loathing in it's most base definition.

The lying and contorted stories you use, they make me really understand. They make me see with unclouded vision what you really think. What you expect me to be.

You can't be satisfied with who I am. You just can see how you damage me with your judgments  You want to take all that I use, to be myself and replace with your ideal of perfection.

Don't worry, I am learning from the best, I watch and learn. I creep around in your mind while you sleep and try my best to learn to outsmart you. I have learned to survive in your world from you. I have learned the tools to survive and it maybe just come down to a duel between our two minds. And I feel I have nothing to lose.