Writing, Reading, and Smiling . . . It's Contagious.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

An Ode to Slacking

Dear Reader,

I didn't write anything for this week's blog. I was too busy playing in the snow.

Your friend,


P.S. Have you ever gone out after midnight? Last night the moon shined its gentle white light upon the new-fallen snow that tasted like minerals and laughter and childhood and memories that made me want to cry. I dug a tunnel in the snow to hide. 

Remember how we used to run and hide? They did not find us till after midnight. You held my hand and told me not to cry when blankets were burned by a naked light.

In that dark closet I left a childhood never again to be held or tasted.

Must fruit be ripe and red before tasted? Sometimes little seeds stuck in teeth to hide and made those fake molars from your childhood crawl under your pillow after midnight. My bedroom is dark with the brightest light, but I won't submit to the lie or cry. 

Don't you listen to words or hear me cry? Sometimes I thought you laughed as I tasted those salty sprinkles in the warm sunlight. The golden sphere fell and wanted to hide from the shadows of the trees at midnight. 

Do not forgive memories of childhood.

Why do I care about our lost childhood? Why does the bright sun grow dark when I cry? Why do the children leave after midnight? Why did he sin when his death was tasted? Why did that girl with long hair want to hide? They were sick of feeling the cold white light. 

Smell the dust from the small bulb's dirty light? Remove the untainted shade of childhood and find the silent truth that cannot hide or hear the screams of voices that will cry. It does not pack lunches to be tasted, nor does it watch TV after midnight.

You shrug and ask why I hide at midnight. 

If you don't know why I cry in the light, your childhood died in the snow not tasted.


As always, I love to hear from you. If you’re in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.
In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It’s contagious.


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