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Monday, December 7, 2009

Early December

It’s been a peaceful month
in the low desert,
where the locals are old,
the snowbirds are grateful,
and the poets are all in good form.
It’s been a month of happy returns
and thanksgiving,
of many old friends
and a new few.
We live mostly for today,
knowing the gods will laugh
at foolish plans beyond
breakfast or lunch.
Winter’s not yet here,
at least not on the Badgers
calendar I got for the 25th time,
my annual reminder of
how wise we were to move,
yet how much we miss
our childhood friends,
our youth,
now mostly x-ed out,
just a few more weeks to
the midnight dance at nine p.m..
Yes, winter’s not here, but
don’t tell my aching legs and
shoulders that at dawn.
That’s our breath we see
in front of us in the morning,
leading the way to the newspaper.
No complaints heard, however;
not so much that they aren’t made,
just not heard.
There’s much to be learned in this age,
at this age as well.
A little loss of sound can be a blessing,
a chance to return to the
remarkable self-absorption of youth.
This month is a time for connection,
reconnection as well,
visits, phone calls, letters, cards and
e-mails, in that very descending order
of intimacy, and it really is too bad,
what that e-mail thing has done to
letter writing, ancient and loving art.
Visits require some degree of readiness,
at least a clean bathroom, but
phone calls, especially the random ones,
can find you in your pajamas,
heck, even on the toilet.
Cards are okay, when one does not
have time for a letter, but
letters have more heart, give more time
to the writer to be reflective,
like a poet,
searching, reaching, looking
for just the right words.
A writer of letters gets to reflect,
to muse a bit about the addressee, to
remember precious moments, to dream of
better moments yet to come,
maybe even to plan some, and say so.
It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,
perfect for the cocoa and comforter
days of year’s end.
We’re older now,
no longer big consumers;
rather, giving stuff away,
the things that have piled up
in closets and storage units over time,
so Black Friday means nothing,
Cyber Monday even less.
We still go to the parties,
ooh and aah over trees and menorahs,
eat too much cheese,
drink just the right amount of wine.
We arrive late, leave early,
talk about the coming film festival
and wish each other well.
We’ll tiptoe through
these next few weeks, and
soon, the new year will come
and we’ll make it our peaceful own.
My sweetie, the cats and me.

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