When first thing it smells like snow

I tried to capture a glimpse at dawn.It covered the ground, and more was falling.

Around here, the white stuff snicks away soon.

But this morning, it kept whiffly-drifting down.

Today and way back when

Although I’d looked forward to school adventures, that season of beginnings in Moore, Oklahoma, altered my ego. My style became one of adherence. It started, I think, one afternoon at recess.

A group of us first graders had learned to congregate at the far edge of the playfield, up a small, grassy mound layered red beneath. Spring’s zephyrs carried to us orange butterflies, baby grasshoppers, tinges of dust on our tongues. Imaginations swelled, and we became birds – eagles – soaring and crying into harsh breezes. Other days as horses we galloped, sweat flecking our withers.

Our schoolroom vaguely existed at such times, far away, reminding us of its presence only when the recess-ending bell pealed. We knew well enough to hustle back inside before the ringing of the second bell.

A bright day, all of us in sleeveless shirts, the young dogwoods along the rise rustling dark leaves as we swooped and danced between them, until my neighbor Kerry noticed. “Stop!” he commanded, and we turned to look.

The playground was empty. We’d failed to hear the first and second bells.

If I could’ve started school as an older kid, maybe I’d have assessed the situation and realized I must get out, now. Flee, across vacant lots through briers brimming goat-head burs toward home. They oughtn’t shove me into a mold that squeezed my stomach so hugely at the hint of slightest infraction. Fear like this shouldn’t be planted in my budding heart along with three plus three.

Our teacher scowled when we entered class and said firmly, “You’re late; sit.”

But it was the endless, heads-down march with my friends across the deserted playground that shaped my future.

And by the way

I'm taking a day off from writing (earlier post aside).

Last night I read my first chapter to the writing group, made up of authors of note and great potential, that never has seemed to pull punches in critique.

They extended positive superlatives.

Dude, they liked it.

:o)

To explain

I received this challenge from a friend:

This is your assignment:
Write a short story in as few words as possible. The short story has to contain the following three things.
(1) Religion
(2) Sexuality
(3) Mystery

Don't know why you sent it, Milton, but thanks. The previous post is my attempt.

Anybody else want to give it a shot?

Because Uncle Miltie asked

Two men in hats - pants belted high, sweaters over buttoned shirts, hair tufts straying from nose and ear - occupied their usual bench.

Starlings twittered. A long-haired woman, blossom-faced, tended stroller and babe.

"Did you hear a word I've said?" one man asked the other.

"Not really."

"Oh, I get it," said the first man. "Hots for that young mother?" He ribbed his friend.

"No, no." The second man swallowed. "Her parents attended church in my last parish."

"Well, say hello, why don't you?"

A forehead swipe. A cleared throat. "I'd just lost my Liddy. The couple came to me for counseling - infertile."

"Ah, too bad. You help with an adoption?"

"No, no. Her mother and I - "

A coughing fit. Back-slaps from his friend.

The old men sighed.

Inside moments

Saturday at dusk, snow fell outside the window while on the glimmering screen Aragorn bid Boromir, "Be at peace."

Friends grew misty-eyed, sitting with Tim and me near the crackling wood stove. No matter the repeat views, we grieved. And hummed the masterful music.

Shivering when our friends left for home, we cuddled again near flames, chocolate kisses in our tummies. My lovely man slept a while on cushions before he had to go. Uncovered Fox satellite receptors don't do well in snow. He went to clean the dishes.

I burrowed beneath sheets and blankets, imagining true winter colors remaining for days. I knew they'd really be gone by morning.

Lovin' his way with words

The God-man is the sign of contradiction, and why? Because, Scripture replies, because he was to disclose the thoughts of hearts. Does all the modern thought about the speculative unity of God and man, all this that regards Christianity only as a teaching, does this have the remotest resemblance to the essentially Christian? No, in the modern approach everything is made as direct as putting one's foot in a sock - and the Christian approach is the sign of contradiction that discloses the thoughts of hearts. The God-man is an individual human being - not a fantastic unity that has never existed except sub specie aeterni [under the aspect of eternity], and he is anything but an assistant professor who teaches directly to parroters or dictates paragraphs for shorthand writers - he does exactly the very opposite, he discloses the thoughts of hearts. Ah, it is so cozy to be listeners and transcribers when everything is so completely direct. Gentlemen listeners and transcribers must watch out - it is the thoughts of their hearts that are to be disclosed.

~S. Kierkegaard, Practice in Christianity, p.126