Opposing Colors .For Cee’s Opposing Colors Prompt.
Flowers shed in a churchyard during a celebration of marriage–
an ending and a beginning. Click to enlarge photos.
Reflecting on the old year, he was glad that it was over.
The past year had been full of weeds, devoid of four-leaf clover.
He’d lost his job, divorced his wife and now that he took stock
of all the horrid happenings ticked out on his clock,
he devised a way to end it all. Compiled every ingredient.
If he was to do this thing, he thought it was expedient
to make a resolution to stage a perfect exit.
He’d do the whole deed solo so no one else could hex it.
He staged a stellar ending—one beyond compare.
He chose the perfect outfit, fussed over nails and hair,
then raised a glass of bubbly as the old year died.
Were you, perhaps, confused at first, expecting suicide????
(Nope, a new beginning!!!)
For Sunday Trees 424
Why do all our memories fade out to pastels?
The dulling of the colors, the muffling of the bells?
Often we discover that a happening once dated
becomes a strain of music half-remembered, mostly faded,
and we labor to remember a life so full and vast
that fades down to a shadow relegated to the past.
Better to infuse the present with such light
that all its various colors shine out vividly and bright.
This rose arch arcs over this statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe in San Juan Cosala, Jalisco, Mexico.
For Cee’s Dec 30 FOTD. 2019 almost over!!!!
An inherited tendency that rendered him pugnacious
was a quality that caused his friends to label him audacious,
but luckily this acting out, though maddening, was fugacious,
because they’d found his surly mood was frequently contagious.
In between his pouty moods, he had a great ambition
to write great works and stun the world with his erudition.
He’d be a star. The Pulitzer would be his life’s great crowning.
Sadly, his words rarely occasioned moods other than frowning.
In the end he turned to a lifestyle less vivacious
than the pen. Alas, he chose a comfort more herbaceous.
His solace was that healing weed that smoothed out disappointments
and made action barely possible—let alone appointments.
He stopped visiting taverns to hang out with his mates.
Did not return their phone calls and cancelled dinner dates.
His doors, once open, stayed sealed tight with vapors only seeping
under their cracks to hint at the company he was keeping.
He ceased to be pugnacious, erudite or anything.
Dust blanketed computer keys. He heard his cellphone ring
as friends all tried to reach him but I fear it was in vain.
They tried a dozen times before not calling him again.
Sometimes, cures are worse than the thing that they are curing.
To have their crusty friend back would make bad moods worth enduring,
but, alas, it was too late. In life it is allowed
to make our own decisions. Thus, he vanished in a cloud.
I took my visiting friend Christine for a ride around the lake and into Michoacan to Petatan, a little town out on a peninsula that is home to dozens of fisheries and a few restaurants where the catch is about as fresh as it can get. Thousands of egrets, gulls, coots and black wing-tipped pelicans float and fly back and forth waiting for fish parts to be tossed into the water. In the restaurant we chose, the day’s special was blackened catfish and as you can see below, Christine enjoyed every moment of hers. A non-fish-lover, I opted for quesadillas and beans! (Please click on the first photo below to increase the size of all photos and to read the captions.)
Can you believe I found this incredible rose in an arrangement on the order counter of the fish restaurant in Petatan? I am not a rose fancier, but this one was so perfectly beautiful that it made me into a fan. To see more about our adventures that day, go HERE.