April reading

Sitting by a cozy fire with a cup of steaming coffee always seems to plague me with the question: To read...or to write?

I could easily wrap up in a blanket and pull my book up to my nose and become lost in the imaginative words of someone else- instead of coming up with my own; but then, the characters in my mind come alive and I have to write down what they are doing. So, I take the time and reward myself with a good book in the early morning hours and before I go to bed. (Sometimes in the afternoon when no one is watching.)

Lately I have been reading Dana Stabenow. Surprise, surprise; as I have read all of her books a couple of times over. However, Whisper To The Blood had not made it to my hands until yesterday. I was walking the rows of the library, pulled by two very loud kids, me saying SHHHH! a little to loudly, when I was automatically steered to the "S" section of the mysteries. I had to make a quick decision, and have been wanting to read this one for a long time.

On my way by the "R's", I quickly pulled a Phil Rickman book off the shelf. He is new to me, and I can't wait to read this U.K. author. Thankfully, if I like him, he has a whole mystery series about a female Reverend who is a diocesan exorcist- intriguing.

Ode to the Wind

The wind blows, whistles, whips, and stomps its way across Wyoming, revealing its merciless power during all seasons, but especially during the spring. Fortunately I grew up with the wind- yes, the wind blows just as much in northeastern Colorado- rocking the sides of my house and waking me up in the middle of the night, so I am use to the moans and the lonesome cries the wind can make. Even still, the sharp chill of cool air breaking through your layers of clothing directly to your skin is always a surprise.

Even though the wind can be a nuisance, I can't help but wonder about the wind. Does the wind ever cease, become nonexistent, or does it simply move on to another part of the world, only to return again, the same wind? I can't help but think the same wind that knocks on my door, might be knocking on someone else's door, in another part of the world on a different day. Has the same wind that runs its fingers through my hair causing chaos, and a really good reason not to have an expensive hair due, done the same to someone in the past? Does the wind whisper secrets, the same secrets, over and over?

As thoughts about the wind drift along the breeze, a few poems about the mysterious element come to mind. Here they are:

The Wind Blows
By Molly Bredehoft

The wind blows,
Pushes the air,
And makes my wind chimes sing.

The wind blows,
Up to my house,
Knocking the sides to find me.

The wind blows,
Down the chimney,
Whistling words of confidence.

The wind blows,
Swaying the willows,
In flexible stance.

The wind blows,
Dancing with the pines,
An orchestra of its own.
**********************************************

The Wind
By Molly Bredehoft

The wind, the wind: Does it ever stop?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: Where does it come from?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: Where does it go?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: A simple continuation.
The wind.

Evidence of Spring

As the snow flies sideways and the wind howls through my door and around my little cabin, spring seems a long way from arriving. The scene outside my window- large snowflakes, snow gathering on the trees, rooftops and willows blanketed evenly with snow- makes me think of Christmas Eve and appears as though Santa should be visiting, not the Easter Bunny. I'm sure more than six weeks have passed since the groundhog saw it's shadow, yet the snow abounds. The little animals from the stories of Narnia must understand my plight.

Even as the snow descends, the birds outside my window chirp and cheep, the red winged black birds sing their song of spring, and the geese, sand hill cranes and swans can be seen along the open riverbanks. Spring must be closer than my mind can comprehend, otherwise they would not be back from their winter migration. The birds understand the snow better than I do, for they know the snow will melt away into spring run-off and provide a healthy drink of water for the earth.

When getting out is possible, even my own eyes can see the evidence of spring. The photos reveal the quiet transformation from winter to spring in a landscape where snow exits for many months out of the year.

All photos copyright of M. Bredehoft