SNOW!

At 8:00 a.m. today, I was in the kitchen getting stuff out of the fridge to feed my cats (again), when I turned and happened to glance out through the drapes to the sliding doors that lead outside. I was rather surprised to see snow on my deck, and nearby rooftops.  We were out last night for choir practice and it was pretty cold, but even then we weren’t assuming that snow would fall.

Silly us! This is southern Ontario, in Canada.  Of course it can snow—any time after Labour Day!

I grabbed my camera, which I haven’t done in some time, and snapped a couple of shots.

Here’s one, of our fall mums, getting a bit of a shock:

This photo seemed a nice juxtaposition of seasons.  The plastic butterfly is one of a few designed to keep the birds from banging into my windows in the summertime.

And lastly, here’s a different kind of snow.  It’s a costume-jewelry pin that belonged to my grandmother.  I always called it the “snowflake” pin.  Here you see it entangled with a silver chain attached to a Miraculous Medal.  My mother asked me to disentangle this and it only took me a few hours with some coconut oil lubricant and a straight pin.

I am very persistent.

Have a lovely day – snowy or not.

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The Return of Father Time: Magpie #189

image: crilleb50

The Oppression of Father Time

The days weigh heavily upon him.
He hunches against the necessity of change.

Seasons are not his friend.

Just when he’s locked in to the way things tick,
the leaves begin to fall,
signalling the call
to wind down.

Nothing for it,
but to buck up and reach for those hands
that never fail.

Time to pull the tides from their safety nets,
and wash away all traces of the past.

Where’s my wrench, he asks himself,
and unbenches to his duty.

His rumpled suit, his derby—
all camouflage to the naked truth:

Time marches on.

Kat Mortensen©2013

Visit The Mag for further explorations of this image.

Confessions of an Introvert

The Autist

When you are an introvert,
it takes all your energy,
to carry on a conversation.

There is pretense involved,
if you want to rub along,
with the rest of the world.

Smiles may come, naturally, 😉
but you’d prefer not to have to talk at all.
You’ll walk across the street
to avoid someone, even if you like them.

You want to get your hair cut,
but rather than have to be that chit-chatting
person in the chair,
you just let it grow beyond those
“six weeks”, or you do it
yourself.

You didn’t ask to be this way,
and God knows why you turned out
to be someone whose favourite company
is your own, or … your own.

Ironically, you might be someone
who craves attention
(from a position of anonymity),
or you might need affirmation,
if someone had not enough faith in you,
as a child.
(Say, for instance,
your father even wrote your diary.)

That doesn’t mean, that you don’t entertain ideas
(all the time) of one day, going off the grid,
for good.

No doubt, social platforms and chat rooms
were created by the likes of you,
for the likes of you,

but there’s really no app
that can change who you are,
so you must adapt.

Kat Mortensen©2013

In Too Deep

Bogged

Wading through quicksand—

a sludge, has mired my brain;
can it be un-trained from its
stasis?

Too long, has it lain waste,
content to diddle with piddling recipes,
and fiddly tasks.

Days upon days, has it failed
to emerge from the muck-filled casket
where it dies.

It relies on past success,
to satisfy the need for that pat-on-the-back.

Has it gone slack … forever,

Or will this piece of fluff,
engage it—

enough?

Kat Mortensen©2013