December 13, 2010
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Snow falling, the first of the year, quietly floating to the ground.
The window’s glare, reflecting back at me with the icy malice of things unknown.
The menacing growl of frozen pipes.
The smell of waffles floating through the rafters.
Rasping of the stairs.
Oblong laughter of my family.
Playful arguing.
Grating of silverware on the bellowing platter.
The sun erasing my memory.
Distant cry of a lone cow, wandering.
Red paint falling from the barn to the unsuspecting snow below.
Norwegian table prayers echoing off my voice.
The rattle of a tapping foot onto the aged, wood, floor.
The coarse cry of a newborn kitten lying entranced inside the scattered hay.
Singing of the iridescent piano keys.
The glower of the unforgiving sunbeams on the snow.
Spilled milk.
The distinct laughter of all the women in my mother’s family.
Judgment within a glare
The vibrato of the old Lutheran church.
The soft thump to my even heartbeat.
Fading of my memories.
The seething of the west bound wind.
Roaring of impeding darkness.
The gaze of a crow.
Dying moans of a silenced oak tree.
Shuffling of frozen feet like bricks, on the linoleum of my mother’s childhood.
The grace of my unfolding history.

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favaunt said...
Jan. 17, 2011 at 10:05 am
Beautiful Mette, took me back home to the farm and a memory of Grandpa on the couch. 
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