Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

The web gathered dewdrops like jewels each night, melting them to sunshine during the day. The spider crouched inside her hole waiting ever-patient for her prey. The rain was black as night, thick as snowfall on the plain. Then pouring water washed it all away... Spider crawled up the waterspout.

I saw the showers descend today From skies that glowered thunderous gray; I saw a squirrel on its way To hide. I saw the pale blue cloud of sun; The squirrel scampered to his fun Dug up my plants; the yard’s begun To die. Spring smiled and I Saw life.

Valentine’s dinner was warming and fine, sipping wine while we dined on luxury and spice. Valentine’s chocolates were good but reminded me, should lose a few of those pounds that the winter enticed. Valentine’s flowers bloomed long but they died. And what’s left, what lasts, no surrender, is Valentine’s love.

The greening shoot was almost lost in graying cold wet day. It trembled in a morning breeze. It shuddered as a teasing squirrel nipped its tip and fled. It shrank as dead beneath snow’s blanket fallen overnight, bewailed its plight. And then it reached for sun and shone, daffodil bright.

She wrote dramatic tragedies in school. Girl standing on a burning cliff, the world devoured by fire; one final plane approaches, one last bomb, and so she jumps. But what sweet tragedy, the pilot was her true love come to save her. She wrote such tragic endings, then she jumped.

Slow driving, careful not to skid, don’t speed, don’t break, don’t change direction; make no sudden moves… Slow driving, turns the corner safe, but then the car slows down and then it stops. Slow driving, stuck on snow; some days are like this too, some dreams, some hopes… Drive slow.

In dreams she flies high, eagle-eyed, and she’s free, till radios sing. “Mama, wake up.” Small son crying. “Mam. Did you miss your alarm?” Has the son somehow grown? Years have passed. The eagle’s alone in a well of neglect, broken-winged, flown to dust. “Love?” It’s time now for us.

I wandered lonely as a cloud Beyond the hill, beyond the dale Beyond the lurking town and found Of daffodils a dream, a host But most of all found you. I wandered lonely, sad it seemed My fate to ever only seek Dark-clouded gray-clad winter ghosts Then I found you.

Beat of the music—she’s dancing—he’s prancing around her and holding a ring. They’re playing his tune. Beep of alarm clocks, remember our wedding day; wake up; it all goes away. Beep of machinery keeps him alive; last breath stirring. She sleeps and they’re dancing again; gone too soon.

When she looked in the corner Where shoes used to pile Under chairs – they’re all gone now – So’s he Then the thought crept behind her And pin-pricked her mind Unawares she was startled to find That she didn’t just miss him She missed the despair Of his shoes under chairs.

Red is the valentine rose But his toes are grown numbly so cold In the ice and the snow. Red is the tip of her nose Sticking out from the scarf round her head While the winter wind blows. Red ruby lips and a smile-- They kiss for a while.

Baa Baa black sheep have you any wool I’ve brought my knitting needles in a bucket made of pine Ribbit-ribbit green frog slippery with slime Polishing the floors’n doors where chickens like to hide Cluck-cluck chicken looking pale as summer’s bride Black sheep’s got a black coat for the groom.

“Fair dropped on I were to see you,” said the one-time Northerner, now college grad, sweet marbles mangling sounds of dialect. “Fair what’s-it?” answered Kay. “Gobsmacked.” And though his tone had changed in fifty months of separation, he was still Sam. “So glad you dropped by. Dropping out?” “Drop it.”

It’s snowing in the mountains they say. Don’t take the car. Don’t travel far. But Mandy turns the key and drives. It’s snowing in her heart. “You can’t expect me to do everything while you just sit around.” Does he know what he says? Mandy’s nothing, plus kids, drives away.

You don’t bring me flowers anymore You don’t bring me daisies, white’n pure You don’t bring me roses, red with love You don’t bring me daffodils that smile from heaven above Like clouds You don’t bring me flowers Nothing scents the air You don’t bring me nothing But you care.

On visiting he gave them Roses, pink for gratitude; Her parents said “We think he’s nice.” Sweet yellow roses greeted Her return from distant parts While lavender enchantment started Rumors and the flame of his desire Was orange bright. They wed with white. For Valentines He’ll give a rose tonight.

Let love be enough To build you up, cross bridges, turn Two into one and leave Footsteps in sand. Step gently, step together, share Sea-water and the land~ Let love be enough To lift you up, build bridges, burned By time and thwarted dreams. Step hand in hand, and care.

Pretty in pink, her hands turning red in the sink. Youthful in blue, her knees black and blue from this kneeling to clean all the floors. Mellow in yellow. Her husband’s a jolly good fellow, Adores her bright lips like red cherries and sun-scented cheeks oh so pretty in pink.

“Love is charming.” The whippersnapper’s tough bounce resounds across the table. “What do babies know about it?” “Love is tough.” “Where’s she getting this from?” “Love is remembering she’s yours when she misbehaves.” “I’ve got it,” says Dad. “Got what?” “She’s quoting newspaper cartoons.” “She’s a baby.” “She’s absolutely yours.”

She spins; the wheels go round and round. She rides the merry-go-round, till skies keep turning like memory’s broken sound. There’s no-one there. She doesn’t care. And sunset’s gray turns cold. Time to pretend, she tells herself, game over, secrets ended; he was never her friend. Spinning alone, broken sound.

Vines tightened their grip; thorns dug deep; blood dripped like rain on rose-petals. And Sam woke up. Jean, in rose-colored nightdress, leaned over him. “You were struggling Sam.” Her biting anger soothed by sleep; Sam thought how love’s pale blossoms turn to thorns. Don’t fight. He gathered hope into his arms.

Hair like a waterfall. Eyes like emeralds. Cheeks like roses. Lips like red-currants. Scent like apples. Taste like honey. Dressed like flowers. Skin soft as petals. Feet fleet as beetles. Hey, what d’you think I am? A miracle of nature? Why? I think I’m gonna hire you to cut grass.

The ring brought memories. They’d sat in the grass, she plaiting daisies into chains, he scattering plastic soldiers in the green. Mom brought lemonade, then Daniel sat, studied Lizzie’s hands, and plaited his own ring, two daisies for her finger. Dan’s ring, two diamonds, sweetly reminding her; Elizabeth said “yes.”

Not an old-fashioned guy, wouldn’t make her stay home, wouldn’t tie her to kitchen and kids. Not a new diaper-carrying super-dad either. Just being himself, told his wife go to work, help the housekeeping bills, leave the life she’d devised on the shelf, wondered why she just left him instead.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Apples are green. So are you. Remember the rough seas to France with your husband declaring he’s terribly ill, so guess who… changes kids’ diapers, soothe all their tears and their fears and stands out on deck where the ocean’s a ghastly green too.

He loves me, loves me not, hates me, hates me not. Petals scatter everywhere, until she wonders, does he even care. He wants her, or needs her, or loves the sweet idea of her it seems. And so she’ll change to fit his scheme and say, “I love you too.”

I wandered lonely as a cloud until I saw your face, said he with grace. A cloud descended on her head. I wandered all the lonely earth to find true love, she said. Cloud covered both with noxious misery like death’s decay. But love remains. True love wins every day.

It begins when you sink in his arms. It ends with your arms in the sink—up to the elbows in things the dishwasher can’t cope with, so you can instead. Not quite... It ends when you leave them all unwashed and piling up high and you sink into bed.

The bird-bath glinted in the sun, smooth glass-topped fun, awaiting passing birds. Above were cries of glee, or geese. And down below small squirrel hunted nuts’ forgotten holes. A tom-cat stirred. Bird fluttered down to bird-bath glinting glorious in the light then stayed, afraid, soul-trapped while cat strode watching, free.

Enough blue sky to patch a pair of sailor’s britches, Gran would say. Enough blue sky to make us think the clouds might fade away. Enough blue sky to tempt us out… We hurried then to play until it rained. A drop o’water never hurts, is what my Gran’d say.