journal-12/31/98

12/31/98

Today it was snowing while I was at work (yes I had to work New Year's Eve)... and snow is magical to me. Since I'm from Texas, I'm just not used to seeing it. It would snow in Nashville, but just a little snippet-- and then it would usually melt and then turn to ice, and I would be the one slipping all over the place, ending up on my ass on more than one occasion.

Anyway, I got a little sentimental and nostalgic at work, adding together the snowstorm with the automatic allotted nostalgic value of the last day of 1998, and there were several little snippets of verse that found their way to paper...

Tell me what you're doing tonight,
holding hands with a stranger,
bucking up your courage for a kiss.

You smile with your pinkish nose glowing,
pretend to understand what
the person walking with you is talking about.
And really, you have no idea,
do you,
because you can't see into the bed
of the old pick-up you just strode past--
you can't see the rusted metal trash can,
the various bicycle parts and tires
gathering snow in the hidden bed
of dirty navy blue,
capped off with a cab top of Volkswagen Beetle Sky Blue
(and isn't it funny how you'd never dream
of buying any other car in that shade,
but the old Beetle wears it well).

You notice nothing, because the snow travels on now
at greater speed,
coaxing you further along the sidewalk,
so you'd never see me sitting here observing
and soaking in life
because you sped down the walkway moments ago,
smiling,
leaving me to write your story.

Today is rich with poetry--
when ever watching a balding,
dark-headed father
carefully fasten his daughter
in the back seat of his red Civic
becomes intriguing--
it must be the snow dancers...

She's got her arm wrapped around him--
she's keeping him warm,
or maybe
she's keeping herself warm
with his body like a shield.

The moment a man steps briskly
on the sidewalk,
looks in front of him,
then behind
and he stands, with his mouth hanging open
in a smile,
he gathers snowflakes on his tongue--
just then he shrinks into his childhood.

Overwhelmed like a child at Christmas
I smile gleefully at the white flakes
cascading from the sky,
performing art with silence,
which crescendos and decrescendos
with the best Chopin--
romantic, hearty,
full, and altogether enchanting.

Time ticks away as if already in the annals of past,
and the nature of you always managing to
surprise me again and again,
shifting uncomfortably as you fall,
then whisking wind into the next block
and swirling into a whirlwind around a corner,
carefully pushing me forward,
I dream you must truly be a godsend
to remind us
we are all children--
small, yet significant,
as is each unique white design
falling on my peacoat.

Snow flies,
and I am calm.

People stride by giant windows with their heads
down,
buried in their down and hoods and
furry hats,

the sun pokes through the serene blanket of clouds
creating a murky glow
to everything,
even the cold concrete.

Cars silently whiz by,
puffing out their starting engine smoke
and the flakes change direction
to flow with the traffic,
against the people.

Workmen huff by,
blowing icy clouds from their numb lips
and nostrils,
drinking bad convenience store coffee
in an effort to become warm.

Here, life hums a little softer,
walkers move a little slower--
quietly gripping this day,
the last of the year,
in preparation for better tomorrows
which certainly won't be worse than this.

The world shifts with the snowfall,
cold and breezy and everpresent,
and I quietly wait for the new year
as I stand smiling in the murky sun.