Turkeys are cooking
Snow is falling
And Christmas lights a’glowing
We count our blessings
Remembering the good things
Be they large or small
And giving thanks for all
But not all enjoy this season
Some have no reason
Some huddle beneath bridges
Some hide from relatives
When you pray and give thanks
Spare a moment and give a thought
To all those who are without
To all who are hurting now
The morning breaks silent and still
Rows upon rows of men stand still
Their spears gleam in the light
Like a thousand lamps
Their shields polished silver and bright
The day gains strength
Rows upon rows of men prepare
Their hands grip weapons and shields
Ten thousand men stand ready
Ten thousand men stand still
A terrible horn is heard
Than the ground begins to shake
Out of darkness they come
A steady beat of feet against earth
Out of the darkness come men
Out of the darkness comes the enemy
Bronze shield form a living wall
A forest of spears follows
A terrible sight to behold
An army greater than had thought
On and on they pour through
Ten thousand men at the front
With many more following still
Hearts are shaken
And knees tremble at that sight
One man rides before the silver host
“Stand your ground!” He cries
Today we fight not for our own
but for our families
Today we fight not for our king
But for our love ones
Today we stand and defend
With a roar the silver legion cries
A wall of silver forms agains the wall of bronze
Silent in resolve
Weapons made ready
The silver host stands still
As the enemy marches on
Ten thousand feet
Five thousand feet
Three thousand feet
One thousand feet
To adults, a dangerous hazard while driving or walking about late at night.
To kids, a wonder of walking through a cloud.
To movie makers, a key element for suspense.
Fog is often used or seen as something supernatural or spooky. The harbinger of the monster’s arrival or the warning of some character’s death. In reality, fog can hide dangers in driving or hiking. Obscuring familiar landmarks while hiding holes or drop offs. Some people don’t like it.
But I rather like the fog, not for the thrill factor but fog changes things.
Fog strikes me almost like an artist painting over a photo. It warps familiar landscapes and scatters light in a strange way. People appear and vanish only a few feet away.
By walking through thick fog, one can easily see how fog was seen as doorways to another world. Maybe they still are. Not the magical or mystical doors of the ancient eras but the mysteries and wonders for artists and writers.
Rain falls from black sky
No wind to be felt
No song of birds heard
The dawnless morning
Is as black as night
No hope of light
Not even starlight
I go about this morning
As I always have
But today I miss the light
Today I am wearied by the night
It’s the simple things that matter.
That is what many people say with smiling faces and perfect lives. And a lot of times I glare at them and say, “That’s easy for you to say. You have everything.”
But it is true.
Lately, on my commute home traffic has been snarled. A side road often gets me around the bottleneck. But I don’t take it to avoid traffic or because it is faster. I take it because it is one of the most beautiful scenic routes I have found. It is a winding dirt road with old trees lining either side. Their branches reach up and over, forming a tunnel of branches. Breaks in the trees allow light to pass through, providing a warm setting. With the right amount of cars kicking up dust, it becomes fog-like.
It is a beautiful drive and I love it.
And it is little more than a detour on a narrow farm road.
But it is a simple thing that makes me happy. In this world of negatives and depressing news, finding small things that makes one happy is rare indeed.
It stands not too far
Appearing for all like ancient woods
With bent and weathered trees
With thick underbrush
With scurrying animals and birds
Yet the air taste strange
And the trees more alive
When you near these woods
A power lies upon these woods
An endless twilight
Beneath green leaves
Strange lamps can be seen
Among bough and trunk
Strange laughter can be heard
Deep within the woods
All who enter never stay
All who seek never find
All who are lost find food and shelter
But those who seek harm are never found
A power lies upon these woods
Be it summer, spring, winter, or fall
A peace can be found
Where the weary find rest
And the restless find stillness
A whisper can be heard
Like wind among leaves
Or the quiet song of strings
Playing through the night
None have ventured to cut tree or stone
None have questioned why this forest remains
It stands not too far
Appearing deserted and old
A remnant of what it once was
The people watch and plan
Yet somehow it always remain
Year after year
Century after century
Where the air is rich
And the trees sway in windless air
Due to the constrain of works and feeling burned out trying to get writings out in such a tight schedule. I am also concern that I am simply writing to meet a deadline and not actually writing something I want to write. Eventually, I hope to return to posting a short story but I need a break. And a better plan.
Peace unto you and success upon your day.