Judgement
It is a relentlessly cold February morning, temperatures well below freezing. Silence breaks as each step is strategically placed with a resounding crunch echoing across the frozen pond. All else remains quiet with nary an animal in sight. Even the birds have not dared to venture forth so early. Greta thinks she must be mad, crossing the ice in such conditions. She has no no other choice, however, save allowing a life’s demise.
The pond’s been frozen solid for more than a month, making Greta’s weekly trek a bit easier while also shorter. She knows she shouldn’t chance it, but considering all that's to be accomplished in a given day, taking the shorter route has been worth the risk.
Greta glances up, watching illustrious clouds drift across dark skies. Delicate snowflakes are beginning to fall in rapid succession. She’s struck by the contrast betwixt intricately laced snowflakes and despairing, shadowed skies. The dismal thought lurches to the pit of her stomach as though a foreboding of things to come. Despite wearing boots and heavy layers, Greta shivers. Will the darkness of winter ever give way to spring? She will gleefully dance when she witnesses a blossom of new life. This winter's been a long one and spring cannot come soon enough.
She spies Grandma Agatha’s house in the distance, just before the heavy coppice of trees. The trees' branches, along with the house’s roof, are already laden with snowfall. Greta sighs with relief as spirals of smoke escape the chimney. Thankfully, Grandma Agatha won’t freeze for there is an abundance of logs to burn within easy reach.
Today, Greta’s basket carries loaves of freshly baked bread, red apples, tart cheese, as well as carrots and cabbage from the winter garden. Greta has made the same treacherous trip each week since mid-fall to ensure Grandma Agatha lacks for nothing. She can’t risk the old woman starving, especially when she has no other willing to offer assistance. The old woman lived a promiscuous life – certainly not up to the villager’s standards - so in older years, she is paying steeply. Greta’s conscience, however, dictates she help the woman for judgement is God’s alone to make.
Reaching the center of the pond, a noise resounds in the eerie silence. Panicked, adrenalin pumping, Greta begins to run, slipping and falling less than ten feet away. Spread eagle, she watches as an apple rolls across the ice, its redness resembling blood against the whiteness of the newly fallen snow.
The crack expands; cold-water invades. Greta bobs in the frigid water, gasping and struggling for only a moment before acceptance registers. No one hears save the birds, their wings flapping against air. The sound fills Greta’s ears.
Calming numbness floods. Hands, fingers already frozen, slide across the ice. The irony strikes hard and swift and confusion mounts as warmth infuses and peace encompasses. Has spring arrived?
A single leaf falls on the snow. A whisper of a selfless prayer.
“Please don’t let Grandma Agatha starve.”
Fluttering Fantasy
Beneath billowing clouds
On a sunny day in spring,
Her tiny, fluttering presence
Flooded the scope
Of the garden -
Stealing in,
Wrapping ’round and filling
My heart
Like sunshine,
Dew on flowers,
And the lightest warmth
Of a breeze.
Softly, her wings
Whispered
In the spectrum
Of afternoon’s fading light,
Penning tales of enchantment
And illustrating pages
made of dreams.
I watched,
Mesmerized and enraptured
By her fairy like approach,
A fantasy not often witnessed
While ever sure
The spin of the earth
Paused, too -
In sheer wonder -
Much like the
Beat of my heart.
Through the Darkness
"Nothing can dim the light which shines from within." Maya Angelou
Through the rivets of darkness,
The veil of clouds,
Looms a rampant light:
A star, pivotal in its path,
Bright and luminous
Amidst drudgery and murkiness,
Gleaming ribbons
of age old truths,
Unveiling secrets
Hidden in the grave.
Steady as it streams,
Blinding in intensity,
The starry light
Echoes an ardent plea
For equity and compassion
To conquer the heart of man
And save his very soul.
I’m Sorry
Dear Karen,
It's been more than ten years since you left. There are days when, unexpectedly, I am reminded of your smile and the friend you were to me.
I'm sorry.
I know I told you this - and many other things - as I stood at your grave, but I feel the need to echo the words and sentiment again. I'm sorry. As strange as it may be, I feel what you may not have understood while on this earth now makes perfect sense beyond the veil of death.
Our friendship became too much in ways I didn't understand at the time. What I didn't know then, I think I do now. The needs you exhibited were so vast they eventually overpowered my world, much like a flood, and I felt like I was drowning. Those feelings weighed me down each time we interacted until I began to dread our encounters. It's even stranger because now I understand we were both empaths and our natures had a direct bearing on our relationship, causing a collision of sorts like cars on a dark highway. While you were open, gregarious, and an extrovert, I was inclined to the opposite: closed, shy, and an introvert. You enjoyed going and doing and seeing, and I enjoyed staying home more often than not, enjoying the comfort of solitude.
It seems strange things evolved in such a way to divide our friendship. I know, however, we drifted apart because of the way these things affected me and my lack of ability to understand or handle the onslaught of emotions. The truth is your heart was never in the wrong place for it always encompassed the best of intentions. I know you never intended to make me feel burdened by anything, especially by you, but I did. I understand things more clearly now but my enlightenment has come too late. I wish I had the chance to do it all again, because with hindsight, I'd handle it all differently. I am sorry though because now it's beyond help....too late. I'll never be able to see and hug you again or even send this letter to you.
So, instead I'll remember the warmth of your contagious laughter, the good times we shared, and the generous nature of your enormous heart while asking once again for forgiveness of my ignorance, lack of emotional aptitude, and understanding. I know you deserved a better friend, and I am sorry. I fell far short of the mark.
I know it would please you to know you are remembered. Dare I hope you hear my plea for forgiveness for it is with regret I now realize too well my failure and lack of understanding while you were here. Even still, the fondness of your memory lingers in my heart, and I am reminded yet again, your beautiful soul was taken from this earth far too soon.
I am sorry.
Cynthia Calder, 01.17.25
Valiance
Rich and vibrant soil,
Heavy with rain and dew,
Nurtures growth;
Eager seedlings
Endure and survive.
Long days filled with
Sunshine slip by
Until it begins anew,
Breaking and erupting
From earth’s foundation -
A commencement
Of nature and of birth.
Desiring, striving,
Branches proliferate,
Reaching high
To sun and sky,
Beautifully arrayed
In layers of
Veined, green leaves,
Prickly thorns, and
Sweet baby buds.
Lazy days of summer
Drift along.
New life unveils
Petals of
Robust, stark scarlet
Blooming amid a burst of light.
A portraiture of
Supple delicacy and beauty,
Distends from branches,
Complete with jagged
Thorns primed in a quest
To sting
The fragile veil of skin.
Therein lies the rub.
Secrets -
Beauty, empathy, knowledge,
Awareness, and perpetual growth -
Encompassed beneath a shell exquisite
Are oft’ derived
Amidst the pain and angst
Of a prickly thorn
Like whispered echoes
Of age-old bequests
Nestled within the arms
Of beauty’s valiance.
Cynthia Calder, 01.13.25
Weathered Faces and Boots
My stomach rumbles in hunger, nudging all the way to my backbone with a stark reminder I haven’t eaten anything substantial in two days. Crackers someone discarded along with a mostly eaten Taco Salad from a local, fast food chain has been all I managed to find while scavenging for food and hoping for something better.
It's only a bit further before I’ll reach the Goodwill Store. I pat my pocket, making sure my last ten dollars is still there, safe and sound. I release a sigh of relief. Hopefully, it will buy what I need first and foremost today. I’m not a praying woman - or much of a believer in God these days - but from habits borne of instilled behavior, a prayer to anyone, anywhere leaves my mouth: please let me find a pair of size 11 shoes for my boy. Tommy has long since outgrown the shoes he’s wearing, his big toes peeping out of the tattered soles. It’s getting colder by the day, so finding a pair of decent shoes a ten-year old boy will want to wear is a must. If I can do that, I’ll worry about dinner afterwards, but I know all too well ten dollars will only stretch so far.
I enter Goodwill and immediately head to the shoe racks. Making a swift glance over the children's section, I spy a pair of brown boy boots. They are slightly worn and weathered, but it’s evident they still have a whole lot of life left. Some child most likely outgrew them before he had time to wear them. With pent up, deep-seated breath in my chest, I reach to lift them. “Please, please, please,” I plead to no one in particular. I’m overdue some luck, so please, for the love of God, let these boots be the right size.
Grasping the boots, I turn them over and release my breath. They’re a size 12, which will leave some growing room. Thank the universe! One prayer answered and one to go. My hand grapples with the price tag, anxious to know the cost. Do I have enough money? I manage to turn it over and want to cackle with glee - to cry so great is my relief. Eight dollars. With the tax added, I have just enough money. There will only be a dollar and spare change left over, but I’ll gladly take this deal all day long.
As I wait in line, I’m trying not to dwell on the fact my ten dollars is evaporating into air, and I still don't have anything for supper. Tommy’s feet, however, are more important than eating right now. He gets free breakfast and lunch at school, so at least I know he gets two square meals on school days, and I can easily go without – again. It is a sacrifice I will easily choose.
Unbidden, from buried memories I thought long dead, a quote surfaces in my mind. It’s something my Momma had written down in her little book of quotes:
“I once complained because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet.”
What the hell? Where did that come from? I remember it's a quote attributed to Victor Hugo, though many argue he wrote it.
The quote reminds me of the brutal, hard force of reality that struck my life four years ago after my worthless husband, John, left Tommy and me. Then, to make matters worse, I lost my job six months ago, which catapulted me into this crux of a die hard situation I find myself in today: food or Tommy's shoes. I hadn’t thought of my Momma’s little green book in all that time, but waiting here in line, I vividly recall how much I used to love reading those quotes in her book as a child. The memory of my Momma, along with the quote, crashes into me, nearly bringing me to my knees. I am filled with unexpected longing and deep sadness. I desperately want my Momma and I want to weep where I stand. Tears escape my tired eyes, rolling down my tired, stress weathered face.
Looking all around, I swipe at the tears, trying hard to regain my composure. I will be next up at the register, so I don't need to go over there looking like I'm crying, or worse yet, like I'm begging. I already looked like hell warmed over - or worse.
“Next,” the cashier all the way at the end called and watched my approach.
I carefully place the boots on her counter, as though they are brand, spanking new and made of glass, but this is no fairy tale in the making and these shoes are definitely not made of glass though their value to me is immeasurable.
I knew the cashier continued to watch me as I stand there, reaching into my pocket, but I try my best to ignore her. Can she see the dried tears on my face? So what? Though I might need it, I don’t want her charity - or worse yet, to be looked down on as ‘less than’. I pull the wadded-up bill out of my pocket, eager to seal the deal, leave, and take the shoes home to my boy. As I look up, I see I was right: the woman is carefully watching me though she has the decency to look away when my eyes meet hers.
“How are you, dear?” she asks, her voice oddly nonchalant. I must look bad…..really bad…..for her to take such care with her tone. She's older than my Momma would have been, her grey hair sparsely covered in cheap brown hair dye. Yes, I am sure she's looking down her nose with disdain at me. I resist the urge to raise my arm. I hiked a mile or more to Goodwill, so maybe I've begun to smell. I guess there are worse things though....like no shoes....or no feet......
"I'm fine,” I quip back, not the least interested in small talk. The silence stretches between us for long moments before she speaks again.
“Well, you hit the jackpot with these here boots, honey,” she says in her best Southern drawl while giving me a smile. “See here? The green dot on the price tag?” She points to the price tag.
My eyes quickly drift to the green dot. I hadn’t paid it any attention until now. Had it even been there when I picked up the boots?
“Yeah?” I ask, nearly afraid to ask exactly what ‘jackpot’ I’ve hit.
“Well, the green dot tells me these boots are 80% off the sticker price, honey – today and only today. Yes, mam, it's a jackpot! I have a feeling some little boy is sure going to be mighty happy!”
In disbelief, I hear the words leave her mouth but I can't quite fathom what she's said. A glow of pure joy spreads across the older woman’s face, much like a light. It's as though she knows just how much her words mean. I quickly do the math: if the boots are less than $2.00, it means I'll have most of my money left to spend on dinner.
The older woman leans over the counter, gives me a wink, and lowers her voice to a whisper so only I will hear the next words she speaks. “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
Dumbfounded, I cannot utter a word. How in the world does she know my name was actually Virginia and why would she say such a thing to me? Enlightenment sweeps in and strikes to my core. Without a doubt, I know the words the woman just spoke can be applied to my dismal life in more ways than mere boots, Santa, or Christmas.
Grateful and ecstatic, I grab hold of the woman’s hand as she hands me my package, thanking her profusely and returning her smile. It' the the first genuine smile that's graced my face in a very long time. I wonder if this woman is an angel or my long-gone Momma incognito because in the crux of my soul, in the hidden recesses of my heart, something has surfaced that's not been recognizable for a very long time: it is hope.
A smile still gracing my tired visage, I make my way next door to the grocery store and spend my remaining money on bread, canned meat, and green beans for supper. Still smiling, my thoughts turn to getting back home where I'll be able to see Tommy’s expression when he sees the boots. I can hardly wait.
"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” – Desmond Tutu
Christmas Wish
A rooted dream grows of fruits, lingering inside
This holiday: a hope to quiet the dismal cries.
Still, a bigger desire dares surface to invade,
Love and peace for all, in this world we have made.
**********************************************
Starry skies on a cold winter’s night connect
Youthful memories the heart’s mind collects
In streams of true holiday themed souvenirs,
Our dreams begin glowing like stars ever near.
*
Lights twinkle akin to joy's mirth everywhere
Despite the frosty chill found in the heavy air
Hot chocolate, songs, and warm hearts provide
A birth of true love in a feast no longer denied.
*
The sound of children’s laughter takes flight
Drifting ’cross light blankets of snow so white,
Bells ring, cascading to the moonlight’s height
To proclaim peace, altering man's dimming plight.
*
Minds and hearts unite as one, eager to release
The long-awaited presence of resounding peace
As enlightenment touches on our revolving souls,
In a fruition of love’s sweet mercy ever extolled.
Winter’s Child
Winter’s child is awakened by cold and dazzling frost
She stirs, then rises, finding earth’s glory thus embossed
With icy drops of dewy white encapsulated by the cold
Winter's whimsy spreads wide, greeted by a joyful soul.
❄
She hums a merry tune of the new seasonal delights
Immerses in the frosted spirals, marveling at the sight
She beckons the crisp cold air, breathing of its magic
The season enraptures her heart in beauty most ecstatic.
❄
She dances and she frolics, a wispy fairy on the lawn
A frosted rose in winter, enchantment visualized at dawn,
No words can do her justice as she moves and sways
The allure of her rime riddled rhythm, bids winter stay.
❄
Frost begins to melt at visions of the fair, winter child
Emboldened by her receipt, it dares dally to visit for a while,
In reply, the wind whips about, whispering through the trees,
“Happy Winter, Child of Mine, this day is yours to seize”.