Category: Nature

The Walk

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An Experiment

Jernee, The Little Monster: Becoming familiar with nature. Photo Credit/Tremaine L. Loadholt

nicknames aren’t what most aspire to.
we’re often saddled with descriptions
that lessen our personality,
but “the little Monster” suits Jernee.
on walks, she sets her eyes
curiously on nature’s green gifts,
sniffing out the elite versus the subpar.
she has a system.
I am watchful, yet patient.
I admire her investigative process, her
obsession with marking her territory.

I give her space to explore
crumbled earth between her toes,
the dust settling on her paws
becomes a lickable treat after two miles.
we break for hydration and deep breaths,
neither of us — as young as we feel.
during Winter, the dew-drenched grass
is slick and tricky but doesn’t trip
the quick pace of a four-legged athlete.
she glides through the sea of green
without stopping.

life is less difficult with her around.
the walks we take, they are glue
for pieces of me prone to breaking and
in need of constant repair.
she senses my love for them, for her.
in every step, I witness a pet
who is confident in her role as
caregiver, as companion.

I don’t have to be anyone else.
she gives me space to adapt
whenever adaptation is necessary.
I favor the weekend morning walk.
we stroll and strut and spend
our time wisely.
just us, the wind, God, and the clouds…

and the knowledge of a connection
between a woman and her dog.

My little dog — a heartbeat at my feet. ©Edith Wharton

This is my eleventh year with Jernee by my side. You may hear people say, “I don’t know who rescued who,” but I do know and I can say without one shadow of doubt, that with her — I am much better. With her, I am alive.

Amends

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Taken during my walk on my lunch break. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I have forgiven you,
you no longer threaten my growth.
I know that in order to flourish,
in order to bloom, I had to give you
the sunshine you needed and acquire my own.
It is your decision to stay bound,
connected, linked–desperately clinging to
another who only lip-services you and does not
honor your heart.

I do not want that for my own,
so I chose a place for me, for my heart
where both of us can be loved accordingly
and fully without shame.
I hear my heart more now.
I listen.
It has been
s  h  o  u  t  i  n  g 
and I have ignored it, but now–
now I know what it needs
and that is not you.

A lie would be to say that
I don’t miss being a thought of yours,
that I don’t still dream of you,
that on occasion, I don’t get teary-eyed.
I do.

But, I am choosing me.
I know I will not let me down.
This is my letter of amends to you,
my offering–to give you what you have
been wanting,
freedom from commitment.
freedom from love.

Gloomy

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Icy Tree|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

An ice storm passed through here
last week and I thought about you.
About your voice and its eerie sensibility
of staying even when emotions were heightened.
Robotic, you seemed not quite human
in those moments.
Because how many of us can sound as
if we’re happy when our world is
crumbling right before our eyes?
How many of us will keep breathing
without flinching or changing octaves?

I often wondered if you were battery-operated.
If there were actual bells and whistles
probing you to act.
Nothing about our breakups was normal,
but then, no one would really categorize
“breaking up” as normal, especially if
they did not want to.
You were cool as one could ever be.
I never saw you cry.
Not when you failed your driving exam.
Not when you were cut from the
varsity basketball team.
Not when your parents divorced.
Not when your Grandfather died.

“What’s keeping him from falling apart?”
I used to ask myself that question for
a number of years and finally, I stopped.
“He just doesn’t get emotional.
He has one setting, neutral.”

An ice storm passed through here
last week and I thought about you.
I wanted to not feel anything too.

The Funny Bone 

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Me, an hour ago. I always fall asleep in my chair, with the remote close by and my glasses still planted on my face. The only thing missing is Jernee.

I do not watch much television, but on my days off and at night, you can find me in my big chair, in a relaxing position, watching cartoons or a few movies. I almost always fall asleep before 9:00 pm, telling myself that I’ll just close my eyes for a bit, get a few winks. Tonight… I had to shake myself awake so that I can get my nightly dose of Thera-flu with honey into my system. 

I want to be able to breathe without struggling to do so and this regimen is necessary. Why is the body so leaky? We have too many spaces in which fluids go in or come out and when one is sick, certain fluids are icky. I am looking at you mucous, yeah, you! Ick! Now that I am awake, I am filling myself with a liquid that always helps. It’ll surely give my enemy mucous a run for its money. 

Hey, when you’re sick, there’s gotta be some type of humor shuffling about. The old funny bone has to be tapped a few times if you wanna survive. 

*Taps funny bone*

Ouch!

Under The Weather

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A shot from Winter Storm Diego, December 2018.

I am inside, swaddled in my favorite blanket,
lounging in the chair, feeling like death
is coming for me.
What is it about Winter that causes
it to bring the worst cases of sickness with it?
I am Thera-flued, honeyed, and zinced up
to my nose, trying to keep my senses in tact.
Old-Man-Winter is waving his cane
in our faces, cackling at our woes.
He is having fun while our bodies
are betraying us.

First snow, then sleet, then freezing rain
and I think to myself, “make up your mind
already!”
The stillness of my home shocks me.
I am even more quiet than normal
and if I attempt to speak, my voice disappears.

If the blues have come in search of me,
they will find me catering to a stuffy nose,
watery eyes, a sore throat, and painful ears.
I hope they bring good company.
Bad influences are not welcome.