Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

 

I'm trying to write longer, languorous lines, you know, as I have not been writing like I should. These lines might form a rib, a bit, an attempt at honest expression, or an artistic endeavor to keep me from my dotage. To shake off the brain fog, post-Covid before I fix my shaky, sore carpal tunnel hands and get back to work. I wake up numb in brain, fingertips straining and hurting, finding it hard to talk, momentary, mental lapses, and an inability to move, work, or think. The cabin helps as the bright sun shakes off the long upper Midwest winter, which felt like it lasted eight months this year. The mosquitoes materialize from seemingly nothing to work like tiny Draculas on all available creatures. A bald eagle screeches in its deceptively tiny bird voice, and the chipmunks chase each other with much commentary. A toad hops through the gray dirt of the campfire pit in search of a cool escape from the torturous sun's red rays. I defog as I watch every other creature move thro...

While tidying up the cabin by washing the dishes and sweeping the floors before everyone leaves, I reflect on another year. We are all getting older and tamer. There are fewer altercations and more hugs along with earlier bedtimes and more snoring. We awake earlier each year, and people leave sooner on Sunday.

Early Morning coffee in the kitchen. Jim is making eggs.  I hear a clutch of conversation when I wake up. Peter, Donny, Josh, Matt, Joe. I let the discussions hang. I get up to take my morning walk, skirting other hungover zombies.

The creek is high, appearing more like a pond each year. Past it there is a dark patch of woods. Birch and Spruce mingle with Slender Ash. Big Rock looks inviting amidst stalwart pines. 

The river runs through here, doncha know. I can't hear it over the sound of the space heater. This summer is a cold one. 

Cabin Day One: Ask the Turtle Walking through Yarrow and daisies in the ditch as cars fly by I  spy a dead Snapping Turtle next to an anthill And a Subway cup tossed carelessly from a passing car. The ferns are tall and verdant next to scarred popple trees,  the sky blue with scattered, wispy cirrus clouds,  and the air fragrant. Wisconsin summer, colder than some yet still beautiful.  I raise you your harsh, snowy winters  and ask for more temperance. Ask the turtle who hides under ice and hollow log what she wants.  More summer or a buttercup. Something to eat and the sun on her shell. Give me more days like this one, content in my carapace,  walking through green, even as I shield myself  from speeding cars on County Road W that never slow down.