Interrupted Journey

It is minutes after four Christmas morning when he wakes. It takes some time to gather his wits of course: where he is, what day it is, the day’s agenda; things of that nature. That done, he eases himself out of bed, careful to not disturb Sarah who is sound asleep. He needs to take the cheeses and the salami from the refrigerator so that they’ll be warm for breakfast.

In fact, it’s cold in the house itself, and he’s reminded that last night his phone’s weather app had indicated a significant temperature drop for this morning, so he hurries to complete his mission, to adjust the thermostat, and to get back to bed where he pulls the covers to his chin. He reaches over till he can lightly touch Sarah’s pajama covered thigh under the blankets, just to make contact. She is still deep in sleep. Good! She needs it.

As he lies on his back, his mind wanders. It will be afternoon in Bergen now. The kids and grandchildren will be boarding the Nordlys soon. All the way north to Kirkenes. Maybe Northern lights!

Stupid Covid! Wait, he’s not been coughing today lungs clearer breathing easier were he and Sarah in Norway right now they could get on the ship easy no one would know that’s what their youngest told them to do they didn’t listen stayed home lost five grand.

“No! The kids, man! You would’ve made the kids sick! How many times do you do this? Rest, old man. They’re happy. You did that. You have Sarah still. Alive. You’re both alive. And you’re both getting better!”

He’s okay now. It’s Christmas day. A simple breakfast to come. His fingers still touch Sarah’s thigh as he drifts along the edge of sleep.

Persistence

Nicole’s winds drove the sea onto the land

Then over and under A1a,

Collapsing the road,

Flooding the inns and houses,

And destroying beach entrances.

Yet, Pelicans still glide over waves,

And dog walkers still converse at water’s edge.

View from Eze

The steps are steep

And the climb long

Under the Mediterranean sun.

His clothing clings,

His legs ache,

His eyes sting.

Yet at the summit,

His weariness dissolves,

Diluted with scenic wonder.

Post Tempest

Here, an old oak leans over the street,

Sand fences spill down sea walls,

And beach steps lay dismembered.

There, a mother and child welcome the sun.

Outside the Picasso Museum

Scanning the courtyard below

For companions especially late,

The pair await with growing displeasure.

Temptation

Blue door in wall ajar

Snares meandering mind ‑‑

Forbidden portal beckons

Garden Door on Aviles Street

You wouldn’t think,

What with the nicely potted flowers

That flank the stained wooden garden door,

And, what with the bold golden colors

Of the distressed garden wall,

No, you wouldn’t think

That the single, bare, and unassuming branch

Visible through the barred window

Would maintain such a grip on my attention.

Passing Thoughts

This morning I sense Death following.

I can’t say how far he’s behind,

But I’m certain he’s closer than last year

And now has a longer stride than mine.

That said, those stunning blossoms ahead

Call for a moment or two of my time.

Grandfather’s Visit

Fading from view a sliver more each stay,

He stands at the French doors,

Observing the game outside while drifting inward

Toward missing-frame memories of some distant past.

An Ending Out of Sight

This charming street is descending now

With gravity quickening our step.

Ahead, I see our route curve north,

And while I cannot be certain,

I sense we approach the edge of town.

Still, if true, there’s little to be done

But to slow our pace, hold hands firmly,

And see our pleasant stroll to its end.

Vilano Images

Illustrated Coctail Napkin Thoughts