It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in the north, or in the snow.

Lately, in my dreams I’m walking in snow, deep snow.

The dark, Steele grey sky is still.

The snow has a crunch and resistance as my boots push down.

I step, and push my foot through….the crunch, almost squeal that the snow makes is tattooed in my mind.

The sound of snow is unique in all its forms.

Quiet when it falls, loud when it’s stepped on.

Dry powder, or heavy wet slush…snow is such an amazing phenomenon.

The swoosh of skiing on powder is a sweet, sweet sound.

The grind of tires in packed and dirty drifts can raise your blood pressure.

Lately, since my dad is on my mind. I remember him in snow.

I had double bladed skates when I was 4 or 5, that he hated! They would get gummed up with snow and he’d dig the blades out with his keys…fussing and cussing. The lake where we lived in Ohio was so pretty. The families would clear the ice with paths lined with luminaries and the nighttime skating was so great.

My dad, with a ladder out against the house, pretending to put carrots on the rooftop for the Reindeer at Christmas.

My dad, walking home from a New Years Party in Chicago. They had left us home, me in charge at 10 years old. My brother was 4. It wasn’t a great thing to do. I called the neighbor’s house in tears. My dad came back. I watched from the window of my bedroom. He walked back in the night. The street lights, the snow made his walk look like something from and black and white movie. His coat moved about him as he walked. His hat, cast an odd shadow. He looked like Humphrey Bogart, In Charge. He calmed my brother down, got us tucked in bed. He was my hero.

There is something about this time of year.

It makes me think of Steele Grey days, hot chocolate, layered clothing, the cold stealing your breath, numb fingers and toes, and my dad.

Snow. It is heavy with memories.

The crucial days

The crucial days

When character tests

Are either passed or failed

The crucial days

When friendships can last

Or they just catch the wind and set sail

The crucial days

When the faults you find

Land on your own doorstep

The crucial days

When your eyes open

And your legs keep moving you forward.

Don’t stand still.

The stillness kills.

It suffocates your very will.

Don’t stand still.

Who’s driving?

It doesn’t matter that your tired

It doesn’t matter what you’ve done.

Can’t sit on your success

Who cares what you have won?

The CEO screams

Yesterday’s win

Is today’s Shit.

Go out and win again.

The scream stays in your brain

And you wonder if you can.

When everything becomes nothing,

What becomes everything again?

Who is “they?”

Why do “they” get to say?

When does a win become nothing?

Why does a win become nothing?

Who is driving?

Who gets to say?

If you have the steering wheel,

Drive it your own way.

Original by Wendy 8/18/19

Spring is coming

When the wind blows through the bowers,

The north wind rattles and rakes the flowers.

The sun is hot but the wind blows cold.

The green is new.

The earth is old.

Neither quiet or loud

I am Neither quiet or loud,

Nor unusually proud

I don’t shrink

But I can think

Which makes me, me.

On days of quiet solitude

I find interruptions rude

When I reach out in kind

I’m so very happy to find

Friends of excellent quality

Friends are difficult to find

The quality I need is rarity of mind

Being unique is a must

And loyalty and trust

Of course they are original

I am neither quiet or loud

My words are precious when found

Spoken in hushed tones

Usually when I am alone

Which is most of the time, anymore

It’s been a long while since words have come flowing. I had to capture them before they wandered away.

Thanks for listening

Setting out


Muir Woods, Ocean View Trail.  Photo by me.

A new trail.

A winding road.

Uncertainty around the bend.

One foot after the other.

Step by step.

Interviewing for a new adventure.

What will tomorrow bring?



So the soul longs for sunshine,

the feet long for the earth.

The man seeks redemption

the son seeks for birth.


Where does the sparrow fly

Where the sun ceases to shine.

Where does my heart beat.

Where your soul does not long for mine.


I’m riding cross the boundaries

I’m riding through the fences

I’m riding along the ancient trees

I’m riding through the tenses


Past, Present future,

Your soul longs for mine

We will find each other eventually

along the forbidden pines.