Brazen December

We brave the elements
December at the ocean
beach hardened sand
waves run amok
depositing sea foam
that skitters across the dark palette
dead things washed ashore
plant animal refuse once living
now drowned but possibly maybe
to live anew
like us
city-worn, depressed and house-bound
enjoying a day in the sun after feeling
winter dead

Relentless wind freezes our earlobes
lending white noise to the pounding pounding
of sand being pummeled pummeled
of ear drums thumped thumped
of skin battered battered
and sea wings flapping flapping

into recognition of a certain kind of freedom

My mom wrote: "Look at me now--no longer working, getting old, suffering from an incurable illness, with my muscles having wasted away, unable to walk, drive, struggling with the smallest task like combing my hair, brushing my teeth while standing, which means somebody has to be there at all times to make sure I am comfortable and my needs are met, to love me unconditionally, and that is your dad. Like any other couples, we've had our ups and downs but the years have been wonderful; we are still best of friends. Many times now I feel sorry for him because I am not what I used to be. . . . "

Who among us is?

I owe you one about the BLS--death of statistics.

For more doom and gloom visit Sleepwalkers' Glory. P.S. You can go there for giggles, too.