Once again on a Tuesday afternoon I am waiting for a package.
Here are a few things about waiting...
Awaiting Rain
The land called with parched throat as it had so often called before. The wind began blowing a mournful note. Is the rain gone forevermore? The hammer-headed clouds built. We hoped it would began to pour, our rivers mostly beds of silt. Is the rain gone forevermore? Lightening flashed all afternoon long but nary a drop fell on earth's floor, though we wished for a soaking strong. Is the rain gone forevermore? Where was the pitter-patt of wetness? "Please, a little water here," we implore. We need a foot or two, no less. Is the rain gone forevermore? A breeze blew the overcast away and sun rays beat down once more. Hope is burned away again they say. Is the rain gone forevermore?
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Sandcastles Awaiting Tides
I remember building sandcastles in soft sand, then waiting for tidal water to come, washing away my creation, re-smoothing, reclaiming the wide and empty beach. I am waiting for soothing water to come, and wash away strife and news headlines; a Professor sought in the death of his wife, and a bullied boy committed suicide. Well, before cooling water comes I see; three wounded in another University shooting and an Italian cruise ship thwarts pirate attack, and I wonder what happened to sandcastles. The Hand of God rock is being sold on eBay and a bull runs loose in the supermarket. If you pick a hairstyle you can save the planet, but I pray for tidal waves to bury us like sand castles swept off dirty beaches.
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Waiting for Spring I am drinking black coffee out of a chipped stoneware mug. It is one of the few things you left me, that I really care to write about. I am thinking how Mississippi Delta Jazz, about New Orleans, and aligning ribbons and name tags on dress blue uniform jacket and shirt in anticipation of a funeral service probably are not the best pick me up on a lonely, depressed day. Outside a gentle breeze scuttles snow across the barren ground. Fresh clouds promise an inch or two more, although the National Weather Service, and the calendar declare winter over. I don't think I will be seeing blossoming flowers and green grass anytime soon on my cold brown dead lawn. Last night's spring showers froze as soon as the rain drops hit the earth. I'm beginning to think that the coldness outside and the loneliness in my heart may last another season. I am drinking black coffee out of a chipped stoneware mug. Heartbreak is one of the few things you left me, that I care to hang on to.
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Waiting For Snow
It may seem strange to wait for snow. We usually get a bunch of it you know. Everytime the flakes start to mount up, I toast it with hot chocolate in my cup. I get excited when north winds start to blow. It may seem strange to wait for snow, but I know Christmas will soon be here, with memories and feelings I hold dear. After sleeping off a Thanksgiving feast the days until Yuletide are short at least. It may seem strange to wait for snow, but I watch the flakes fall, face aglow. I know my daughter will very soon arrive, once again bringing my house back alive. As time goes by, watch my smile grow. It may seem strange to wait for snow.
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