Ice Flower

Ice Flower

Radiant, inspiring, her beauty shown as clear as the great sheets of ice that spanned the breath of Antarctica;

Her, persona was unique and gave him reason to ponder on her magnificence, she demanded nothing of him, sometimes this was perplexing to him; he would shrug it off.

He saw her one morning on his way to an appointment, walking in she smiled as she first saw him; then the frown as though he conjured up some long ago memory that she may have desired to keep filed away.

Laughing to himself, he enjoyed the brief interlude and erased her from his memory.

Giving light to the newness of future events to come enerred as he may have felt himself redeemed and not blamed at his failure with loves immeasurable twists and turns, curves and switchbacks, thusly, giving him reason to cry out.

He thought back, not, because of this one; as another woman walked by. She smiled. Spoke once, and forged ahead to her appointment.

He considered by comparison each ones beauty or mannerism and sought to put into words Antarctica
with its frozen, harsh strata, and characteristics.

He saw his first passerby as the vast desolate landscape as first seen from a distance, white ice and snow covered mountains dominated the horizon; seemingly unforgiving in every respect; here survival rules
without respect to a persons stature
political affiliation, religious choice, or gender.

Come prepared, or come to stay, her eyes seemed to say. He fascinated that perhaps she might have a warm place in her heart for some one.

Miles of frozen expanse gives not love not condolence or leaves nothing to chance, as though her body and face explain give me love completely or undeterred my wind and cold are the wrath I own to impart at will.

Many have found my frozen white sheets do mistake for a bed and lay down upon them for their final sleep.

Fall for this not and listen to your heart. Stand on the ice and snow prepare for winters furious blow arriving without love or preamble, leaves a frozen bitter shamble.

Pushing

life marks us all.

life demands all but asks for nothing.

life finds our glaring weaknesses and brings out our most hidden strengths;

life challenges us by the minute, tasks us on the hour, and grants us little or no reprieve by the day.

life gives us our own reasons for declaring we are here and staying, not for the moment to rise, burn brightly, then drop as rapidly back to earth as falling magma or volcanic rock, disappearing forever into Earth’s embrace.

life decides not that it is the way of we, a people, who have long entertained and pondered the eternal heavens;

life ordained that we were not granted the insight or mental abilities to say yes to the first word as we understand and thus consider done our march toward the eternal search for truth.

life provides – i see answers; yes. but they are not mine to accept as being one true way, but rather a series of truths to be constructed together, pondered, debated; then accepted.

life determines that it consists of knowledge, passion, curiosity, steadfastness, singleness of purpose, love, humor, wants, fear, anger, dread, peace, tact;

the list might continue unabated.

Flowers From Heaven

My editor directed me – stay on after the night beat. She sent me on

assignment to an outdoor garden show held at our local home store. I

could purchase anything from a tractor down to boxes of toothpicks. I

thought glumly that a cup of coffee might be what I needed, but, first

work.

I knew nothing of flowers so I hoped that I might cobble a photo essay

together using the names that were probably posted to identify them. She

was standing beside the first row and I noticed her when I glanced up to

seek a sales associate.

Her hair, pale as the flower of the Belladonna and wonderfully the color

of the mist shrouded sun as it rises in the distance of a warm summer’s

morning. if touched, it might feel like the softness of the Hydrangea, its

closely packed groupings of blossoms taunted and beckoned to me with

it’s wonderful fullness. I noticed a few berries of this plant and having

pocketed one I was determined to test its sweetness.

Her face gazed upon the world with a stoic calm reserved for visiting

dignitaries. her eyes seemed to float like the flowers of the Wild Rose

upon its green leafy bed as the wind moves gently across their faces. I

admired her serene smile and impish charm that seemed to foundation

her facial features.

She stood straight as the Malva plant or Hollyhock she did seem a little

aloof or perhaps I factored wrong, and she might not be comfortable in

this place. When she turned her profile to me I immediately snapped off

a picture in her direction. her body was framed right and left with the

multicolored flowers stacked row upon row. I thought that if I could ask

her for assistance she might reward me with information on these plants;

I approached her.

Her lips were pretty, and her chin and soft cheekbones were a wonderful

contrast that gave her a sun kissed glow. She was wearing a soft cotton

smock and leggings that ended just past her calves. bare legs and soft

pink/green plaid canvas shoes adorned her feet. Gentle eyes were softly

surveying me when she said, “Hello, do you work here?”

“No. I was hoping you might help me, my eyes twinkled smiling, my

name is Anthony and I work for the local Sentinel newspaper.”

“What would a local reporter find interesting at a home store?”

“Ah, that is what eludes me but I hope to appease my boss by making a

photo essay from the flowers that are for sale here. If you would kindly

go with me for a short walk around it might make things easier for me,

however, I do not wish to trouble you.”

“My name is Amber. I have some purchases to make and I do not wish

for the stock to be swept up and sold. If you wish to accompany me then

by all means you are welcome.” she looked at me with a firmness that

said she would not accept any compromise.

I agreed and reached into my pocket. Bringing out the dark berry I eyed

it for critters, sniffed it and prepared to pop it into my mouth.

“Stop!” she said and many patrons turned to see what the commotion

was about.

“Pardon, what is wrong?” I said visibly shaken.

“Do know what you are holding in your hand?” she queried.

“It is just a berry from a plant over there; it looks tasty although the

smell leaves a lot to be desired.

“Hmm, if I told you it was poisonous would you still try it?”

“As a reporter I am curious of just about everything.” I hedged.

“Please hand it to me.” The reporters stubborn streak reared its head;

“it is mine, and I am going to try it out.” But I felt compelled and handed

the berry to Amber.

“You are about to learn something about flowers that not many people

live to tell about.” Squeezing the berry just enough to release a tiny drop

of the dark liquid she let some rest upon her index finger and placed it

against my lips to taste.

I let my lips rest against her thumb and index finger and gently probed

the liquid from her hand. If she noticed that I also kissed her hand she

did not react but I am sure she felt the suction because of the soft plop

that even I heard. She withdrew her hand and with a look of ages old

wisdom sadly asked, “is this what flowers mean to you?”

“No, it is merely the establishment of a link that reaches across the

distance to those that I care deeply about. Also those who have shown

me a kind gesture or a gentle touch via computer. It is by words that I

see as I read. Sometimes it’s from what I feel is going through my heart

at the given moment.” I wrinkled my nose at the bitterness of the fluid.

The difficulty of trying to explain my heart was more than anything I

had ever bargained for. My heart began to beat faster, my skin felt

clammy and the color drained from my face. I began to see red and a

sizzling sound was droning in my ears. Gasping for breath I reached out

for her but she was, though I was totally unaware, propping me up

already.

She guided me to a bench that because of the Peony vines with flowers

running across it, held a sign which said please do not sit. We sat. I

leaned against her as she looked at me with concern in her eyes and a

mixture of mirth. “You are so silly. Slow news day,” she asked.

I nodded in the affirmative and smiled weakly, “I am a dork. Do you

forgive me, people are watching.”

She did not leave my face with her gaze for an instant. I will if you

promise to forgive yourself.” Then she smiled and I realized my life

would never be the same. She bade me sit and rest, telling me that she

must hurry to pick out her choice beauties, she promised to return and

check on me. She said she might take some of the pictures for me of

some of the flowers and this sealing her return I thanked her and handed

her my camera.

My mind drift was drifting. I seemed to hear and see all the words

everyone was saying and see the musical stanzas as the piped in

background music pumped out its melodious notes. Fragrant smells

became visible objects as my brain labored against the same movements

and undulations as though I were cared upon a swift moving river.

Smells of fresh water seemingly everywhere caused the occasional

moisture to caress my face like the moist lips of a hungry lover.

I was floating along as though in a dream. I thought I saw a beautiful

young woman walking along a beach wearing a pink lounger and

following close, a small but eager child who was bouncing along after

her.

I saw a raven haired desert beauty totally at peace with the natural order

of her surroundings and walked in the desert not unlike the Native

Peoples of an earlier era.

In another I saw this wonderful sun kissed beauty that challenged my

concepts of persuasion and limited my ability to give a simple answer to

a complex question.

Still in another I saw my own people as spiritualists who sought only to

live in harmony with life, all within it, but were beaten and chased away

from the land they loved and the natural order they had for thousands of

years cultivated and come to understand.

I could not as yet determine my own fate, perhaps I have no right to live

in harmony with all, and perhaps chaos must be established to effect

serenity. I do not know but I am willing to learn.

I saw the beautiful lady who bore my camera away as a bouquet of

Hydrangea…soft, comforting, caressing my face gently and fragrant to

my senses. I settled myself on the bench and waited for my teacher and

benefactress to return.