An Ode to a Midwinter Cold

midwinter-cold

Hark!

Is that a death rattle I hear, trembling the dark wood around me?

Nope.

‘Tis the phlegm from thy chest cold shaking the bed frame as I hack up another loogie.

A midwinter cold has claimed yet another Kleenex which shroud thy bedclothes like moguls on ski slopes in thy feverish dreams.

Okay, so I don’t have a fever, but as I gaze out the window, red nose pressed against the glass, the lengthening daylight draws me outdoors, like a siren, or Beckham, or some other hot guy. Thy waning energy, thy only defense against overdoing it on yonder slackline. (A gift from Santa.)

yonder-slackline

Each day, upon wakening, hope soars that its hold has loosened. Alas all that has loosened are the reeds in thy larynx as I croak in a strong baritone, “Coffee, I need coffee.” Perhaps I should audition for a boy band.

And so linger do I like fingerprints upon thy neti pot. Only a shadow of thyself, stretching out with the day, on the couch, zapper clutched tight in one pale hand while guzzling mugs of green tea like shots of tequila with the other.

The next few days would certainly ring brighter. But, alas, I awake slack-jawed with energy zapped. Now rapid-fire sneezing and nasal congestion appear. I try to sleep it off.

Then darkness swallows all hope as a shiver slices thy core. I tunnel deep within the tangled sheets, tossing then turning to Web MD – How to sleep with a fever. Reduced to a mouth-breather, I check off thy list until the corners’ of thy cracked lips curl in a smile.

Nasal strips. Duh!

I dash to the bathroom to see if drawers contain the desired breathing implement. Aha! I apply it to nose’s bridge and can instantly breathe. Oh, the relief and sanguine bliss and scent of flowers and sunshine and… then I notice thy reflection which resembles a prizefighter after losing the prize. What if my nose sticks like that?

I quiet down for a long midwinter’s nap, snoozing for two hours at a time. By morning, the fever has fizzled. Yes! My expectations fly away with my imagination. I would rest, then go running tomorrow and then write, then replenish thy refrigerator, and then… I dragged through another day.

I curse thy pharmacist. How dare she send me away since thy flu shot was almost in hand (or arm) and with such a lame excuse. Something about anti-cancer drugs suppressing thy immune system and not giving anyone a shot who had double boobectomies. Never before have I beset such an outrage. Instead of smiling and leaving, I should have explained, “I only had one bad boob!” Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

And here am I, a mere shell of thyself, crawling with legs splayed sideways, skittering from bed to couch to chair, always hiding, the light too bright still.

Oh, when, doth midwinter’s cold end? Hack, cough, spit.

It better be soon, dammit. Snow’s in the forecast and there are wild rides to be had.

Did you get your flu shot? It’s not too late. When I’m well, I’m demanding one.

I drew Midwinter’s Cold as I imagined it when I wrote this poem. Yes, thy mind is a very scary place.

‘Tis an Attempt to Make You Smile!

‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, the family was out.

DSCN8399

Woke up at 6:00. Left @ 6:30 – Gone Shreddin. Love Kelly. Call meh for da plan. High 4!

The stockings were emptied, what remained were the hooks,

The only memory of Santa had been read in books. Continue reading

Friday Photo – Twisted Sisters and an Invitation to Party!

OoooO! OoooO!

Let the Friday fun begin – with a “flash photo.”

The crowd hit the forest’s dance floor as they swayed in the melodic wind. A gnarly aspen bumps and grinds the twisted two-some while wearing a toothy grin.

You never know what you’ll find when looking for adventure in Colorado…

The next Use Me and Abuse Me Day is coming up next Wednesday, October 3rd. Get ready to share a link to one of your blog posts and party in the comment section.

If you need a Friday chuckle click here! 

For a flash fiction from the Wild Archives click here!

The Girl on the Page

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Self portrait by S. Lindau 

The girl on the page was sullen.
She had so much to give
And so much to do.

She followed the whims of the author,
Who took her to task,
Forced her to go through,

The fantasies that surrounded
The world in her head;
The dreams that she knew.

But the girl planned a way to confound her.
She imbedded a thought
That created the truth.

She broke through the chains that confined her.
No longer was held
As the author’s keys fell.

So she took control of the author
And told her that she
Would rather be free.

To live her life out in the open
Where she could be heard.
For those understood

That her life could be what she wanted.
To live life and love
All those she thought of.

Her heart felt the first beat of living
She opened her mind
And let the light blind.

Embracing just what she’d been given.
The author stepped back
To absorb the attack.

She knew that her story was driven
By the girl on the page
And this set the stage

For the author to give her the freedom
From a path giving strife
To one giving life.

Then the girl on the page was so grateful.
And for this she pitched in
Guiding from within.

The author went back to creating.
With the girl on the page
The readers engaged

In a tale rich with love and emotion.

Have you ever had a battle with a character in a story you were writing? Have you ever felt like once you let go of trying to control a certain situation, it would get easier?

© 2011 Susie Lindau