Waiting for Me


The fever broke midweek, but not the vision
in the front of my mind of a place I’ve never
been. It is in the part of my mind where the

seen and the unseen meet. It always starts
in the same spot down by the bayou. The
water seems still in the summer heat. You

might throw in a stick to see if the water is
really moving at all. There is a flat bottom
boat tied to the dock silently waiting.

Waiting for me? Maybe. But I can sense
that life on the bayou is waiting for the next
rain. As is the big oak on the bank. Its moss

sways from a gust out of nowhere. Rain is
coming again. If I look up the hill, the muddy
bank turns to patches of grass here and

there. I can see two oars and a long pole
hanging on the downhill side of the small
tool shed that sits 
in the shade of a big

oak that covers the back right corner of a
house. A sweet 
porch runs the length of the
back of the house. There are two doors.

One on either side of long bay windows.
I’m guessing the left one goes to the
kitchen; the other to the master bedroom.

A few tables and chairs dot the deck. And
there is a big rocker like you see outside
Cracker Barrel on the other side of town.

For a moment, I thought I saw the hanging
bench move that sits at the left corner of
the house. I can hear a car pass in front

of the house. I can tell that there is a church
down and across the street from the house
because I can see the top of the white steeple

from down here. My eyes return to the swing.
Her skin is dark ebony; smooth and soft,
younger than her years. A few streaks of

white in her beautiful thick hair. And it seems
that she, too, sits waiting filled with God’s
grace and peace.

Waiting for me? Maybe. But I can sense
that life on the bayou is waiting for the next
rain.

Odds and Ends No. 70


It is a bathrobe day.
It started on the way to choir
practice last night.

With a full weekend singing
schedule ahead of me, it is
my turn for the creeping crud.

I feel like an old Alka-Seltzer
TV commercial; I’ll spare you
the grizzly details as I knock

around my apartment like a
puck in a bumper game. Or
is it just my head?

When you are sick nothing
tastes right so I immediately
started my three “T” sick day

regimen. Tea, toast, and two
Tylenol. That would be hot,
sweet, and milky tea. And

back to basics white bread
toast to the burnt side with
margarine and grape spread.

Meds only today; the idea of
taking supplements in any
form or size is revolting.

When you are sick some things
sound good; normal food does
not. Like tuna. I gag at the

thought. But instant mashed
potatoes sound wonderful for
lunch with a touch of margarine,

salt, and pepper. It is the pork
sausage that I’d normally have
with it, that is causing me to

pause and think. Not sure on that.
And more hot tea of course. The
idea of coffee this morning seemed

metallic to me. So more tea. Maybe
if I leave out the mustard, I could
handle a sausage. I don’t even

want to think about food although
lunch is near. For those of you who
might think I’m on a Mac; I’m not.

I’m on my Yoga because I needed
to install a Vietnamese language
pack to continue work on my book.

Mac and I had a falling out.

Among other reasons, my gamer
has become my main laptop for
everything. I’m out from under

the insidious Apple umbrella and
back completely in my Google
and Windows world.

(Is there such a thing as Apple
and iPhone AA?)

The Mac force may be with you
but it will no longer draw me back
to the dark side.

A rotten 2017 slowed down my
editing process, but I’m back on
track now tweaking chapter six.

O well. Sausage followed by
sleep may work. Thank God for
hot tea and my old bathrobe.

 

Purple


if I could see magenta
I’d tell you

but I can’t

if I could see mauve
I’d tell you

but I can’t

besides taupe isn’t
really a color is it

if I told you I feel
blue there is so
much more

on a day like today
filled with struggle
and pain

I want to tell you
I feel purple

but I can’t

My Road


life is pulling me
down a road I
don’t know

or do I

if it is the same
road as before
I believe

I missed my turn

or if it is a new
road I’m too
weary to tell

is that the wind

no it is the sound
of my breathing
my heartbeat

I must trust God

step by step the
road narrows a
single road sign

silhouetted in the
surrounding light
beckons me

the pole bears a
street sign with
a single name

my name

this is my road
a way only I
can go