SOMETIMES

This poem is lovingly dedicated to my dog-niece, Zoey, who was everything wonderful about snow ... and life. She loved everyone lavishly and had a soulful exuberance to life that is missed by all of us. There was and there will always be one Zoey Girl. Her passing took our breath away, just like snow sometimes does as it falls.


Sometimes

When
     I write poetry
 I forget it is one digit writing
          From my good hand.

     I don't hear radios or tvs
            Or the groaning in the house.

I sometimes remember snow
                  As it drifts outside
           My window.
    Little white flurries flicker
 Across the periphery
                Of my eye
                      While Chance sniffs
                                       My hoodie.

                       Washing machine chugs along.

     And yet there is a stillness,
 A certain silence in the house,
             Zoey, in reflection, at the top of the stairs,
       One eye ready to open if a sound comes near.
                      Others off to work and school
                                 Tire prints fresh in snow.

I sometimes remember snow
         And lying face down in it.

                 S u d d e n l y
                       Then my world changed
                 Red bleeding into white
                             A dramatic interlude.

Sometimes I remember that.

             Mainly, I feel the snow
        Outside the window
                      The snow that recently left,
                                                             Melted.

 Or fresh puffs, white powder promise
          For thirsty lakes, parched from dry spells.

Sometimes I remember snow, snow balls and snow people,
     Scooping up fresh snowy heaps
                                  Glistening in sun
          Snow flurry pilings
                            That our dog did not find.

    Placed gently in a bowl, adding Hersey's
                 Chocolate, eating snow blizzards,
             Laughing with others
   Teeth chattering, cold and wet under
                           Coats and gloves.

I remember snow...

              First ski attempts, floundering,
       Collapsing in a snowy white mass,
                       Giggling, soaked and soggy
                  Falling again and again
                                   Slipping and sliding
             Sometimes on the
                            Hand held ski tow
                                            That pulls you way up
                               As you Lean Way Back
                                            It's nothing like riding a horse!

     Reaching the summit
         In my case sometimes,
                     Less than my friends,
               Pros at laughter
                         And scant snowy tumbles.

           Red fire logs burning,
                        In Ski Lodge Paradise.
                                   Hot chocolate never
                                                    Tasted so good.

                            Yet never missing it when I left.

            Though Snow makes for pretty pictures,
      Snow Angels,
               Laughter with nieces,
      Funny snow people with carrot noses,
         Joy with
               Puppies and dogs
                       As they run astonished,
      In Snowy cold satisfaction,
Up hilly mounds and down,
            Legs nearly buried as they plow through.
 
   Zoey standing outside in cooling snow
                         Flurries, licking snow patches
                                        Now and again
                                                With her tongue.

                           Standing vigil as her mother drives away.

    Snow takes your breath
                    Away
                          Like now
                               When She falls,
                  Flitters, swirls,
                               And flirts
                   Carpeting Mother Earth.

     Sun, Occasional Blue Sky,
             And Puff Cotton Clouds Sigh
                        In Reverent Mountain Chants.

           Snow twitters, mummers and purrs
                                          Still falling gently.

     Sunshine bursts through happy
                                With one hand clapping.

      Pine needles glisten,
               Mirroring Sunlight.
                            Bright Happiness giggles.

    Mountain stands steady,
                        Enjoying Creation
                As the Sun Kissed Snowy
                               Carpet dozes all around.

THIS IS THE BIGGEST ONE ON RECORD, FOLKS

Girl Scouts woke up early one morning in the Sangre De Cristo Mountains, giggling. We peeked out from collapsed tents, swept together in a heap from the flash flood. Rain drenched and breathless with laughter, we crawled out into thick mud.

On our travels to the Rio Grande, college friends and I encounter lightning ripping open the sky. Thunder crashed...lightshow and rumblings.

Later, we wended our way around a mountain bend in Mexico as donkeys grazed, our eyes meeting massive red rock vistas; until the snow came, stopping us in our tracks. We hovered outside, with no plan, just laughter. Later, someone says it was the first snow in 100 years!

In Gila, New Mexico, a flash flood pounded the road. We forded the stream. A gentleman later sits with us drinking coffee. “This is the worst storm we’ve had in fifty years. Glad you got across. You could have sunk, hydroplaned or blown out your carburetors. All the roads are down. Stay put!” Laughing, we found an abandoned shack. We holed up for about a week, hiking in between showers, waiting on the road to be dug out.

Stormy weather warnings came as we neared Death Valley. We’re treated, instead, to the first wildflowers in over 100 years.

Before I boarded my plane for Phoenix days ago, I drew angel cards: Creativity, Willingness, Play and Humor. Hmmm, good ones.

But I did not wake up laughing this past Monday at 3:00 am.

Thunder exploded. Lightning snatched my dreams. Puppy dog is plastered against my leg. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, doggers,” I say to the dogs outside my bedroom door. But my thoughts aren’t quiet.

They said the storms are quick. Something isn’t right. Any doors blown open? How are the dogs? Horses? Friends? I can’t let the dogs out; the roof is metal. Might get struck by lightning.

I sat in my friends’ home, quieting my mind. Electric sky kept falling, thunder cracked. Sitting in their Great Room behind a solid wall of glass with no separation between the outside and inside. Nature invited herself in and she planned to stay.  

My thoughts return to horses. I can’t see them from here. I consider dashing to the barn. But what if I fall, or lightning strikes. Or the lights go out? What good am I, then?

I calm the dogs. I sense the horses are okay. I say mantrams and send love to each horse. I send love to the dogs. I send love to the storm, to Arizona, to all animals and people. I send love to my friends who are fast asleep, hearing only ocean waves as they drift. I let myself feel successful, having kept everyone safe.

I calm down. With lightning flashing and thunder bursting, I meditate and send out more love.

I confirm my intuition: flash flood warning in effect all day. I cuddle the dogs, sending out more love. I send love to the horse handlers, family and friends. Please keep everyone safe. In a momentary storm lull, I let the dogs out and visit the horses.

I remember what a mentor said about recent earthquakes and storms:

“If more people don't do the loving shift within themselves, the earth will move even more.

I visit the horses again, send love, give dog cookies and soon, I’m inundated with phone calls, emails, texts and Facebook messages.

Roads are down. Can you feed the horses? Special blends. Drat the phone went dead. Which bin?

Muddy dog walks, horsey visits, communications, a friend stops over. I finally breathe easy about 4:00 pm.

I had it right earlier: LAUGH. Let the tents fall; stay stuck in Gila. EVERYONE IS SAFE AND FED. Happy, I take all three dogs to swim and chase each other around the pool. Later, we do dog walks and a few more visits to the horses.

Good ol’ Southwest, never lets me down.

So, Reader, what adventure helped you weather the storms? And what loving shifts will you make for the good of all?