FRIDAY MORNING
Okay ... lost power for a minute but came flickering back. Ulysses, eh? Well riverrun!
Out on the porch now witnessing a very strange, almost alien rice crispies quiet hiss for the frozen rain embedded in the snow, which is keeping tenor with the fiery red cardinals chirping and darting about. They seem fine but I whisper to them anyway... pretties, do not land a butterfly cartoon on piano your darling little legs... please no perching!
This is no Disney though. My heart is in total panic. And now the sirens go! There is terror in the distance yet so Monty Python close as well. The riflebast shots I hear, they are not guns, these are the tired old and weighed trees, and I cannot dart about my head the door fast enough to find the source of grassy knoll each time before it stops.
Terror in the wood!
Caca! Cac...cccrack!! Dammit all! Every sound amplified all wrong as if to mess with you. Crackety not yet fall CRACK followed by splintery echo ricochet, again and silence... and repeat over there... my God, right there... No thud no THUD! Surely distant but overhead close, the dread of yet to finish such heavy fall. There! A puff of smoke it seems out there!
Clouds of snow appear behind the line of infantry in evergreen. As if invisble the alien Predator moves all scifi close ghost toward my door. The branches far away for clouds disturb the fall on on other trees but you cannot see the weighted deadlog gray propped on high so dangerously whose whiskers these wispy bristles to.
Damn Damacles, my sweet Pecan hold tight! And pa-POW k-k... stIll holding heavy the glazed limbs, I can sense without seeing the hanging by a splinter of pithy jagged thread. Fall. FALL!
Where are you? Where ARE you? Hyperventilation is a potwatch boiled, and rattle is my heart. Better finish cigarette and not look out to snow. Pretend inside couches and living rooms with pups a blankey just stop at ceilings and no olympic athelete finish line posing southern tree directly overhead.
Of course Penny now hears them falling closer. May the degrees of sixty Saturday get here soon.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Is that... the sun?
Oh to land the Ark!
Forty days it seemed
and now to disembark
the beastiepups out back
on Christmas Swamp!
SATURDAY
Friday, Iditarod the dogs in ice and snow, and the roving terror of the winter precipitation gang on lilted trees who only waited for spring.
The pups and I ashudder, papa far away. How we shivered undercover in the grip of raging winter storm. But that was so long ago... Friday, did I say? Perhaps I have a yellowing remberance of a photo from then... a souvenir of the terrible Ulysses, now let me see.
Meanwhile...today, oh Saturday - a whole new era we call week-END begins!
Edelweiss! Dafodill!
Oh, the lives are a hill with the music of sound! It is as if baked Alaska, the sweet angels play upon their HAARP for us all, and tall towers cellular just behind whispering trees beam dreams of prosperous days to each one all a happy citizen.
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