Author Mike OConnor: Fallen shadows

Author Mike OConnor: Fallen shadows:      The shadows that follow behind her as she walks down the beach are reminders of her life and all that consumed her. One by one the ...

Fallen shadows

     The shadows that follow behind her as she walks down the beach are reminders of her life and all that consumed her. One by one the dark figures drop into the sand, forgotten for the rest of her walk on golden sands.  She lets the oceans healing breeze blow through her hair as she stoops to pick up a shell that caught her eye, but it's the real treasure that still awaits her.

     The crimson ball of heat has all but left as have the washed away sandcastles. Surfers return to shore dreaming of bigger swells tomorrow, and she continues her walk into the moonlit beauty of breaking waves and the smell of healing ocean air. Just ahead of her she thinks she sees movement but can’t decide if she did or were her eyes playing tricks on her? Then within fifteen feet, she saw a lady of the sea coming ashore to lay her eggs in the protection of the sandy dunes. She sat on the still warm sand and watched as the giant turtle accomplished her task and slowly went back out to her beloved sea.

     She began the long walk back under the light of the moon thrilled with what she had witnessed alone in the dark with a mother to be from another world. A simple thing really, a fact of nature that occurs up and down the beaches for miles in both directions but it never happened to her before, and upon reaching her stairway up from the cooling sand she realized all her shadows had disappeared and her mind was quiet and at peace. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Love is.....

Author Mike OConnor: Love is.....:       There are pieces of my heart scattered throughout time. Some fill the hearts of others who have played a role alongside me, while o...

Love is.....

     There are pieces of my heart scattered throughout time. Some fill the hearts of others who have played a role alongside me, while other pieces are still blowing in the wind waiting to fall. Small amounts of love shared always leaving a place for someone or something new. Love is gathering countless moments of joy and happiness then mixing them to wet the tip of cupid’s arrows. It is a portrait of many colors that started as a blank canvas and grew into a thousand different shades of beauty. Love is a box of memories that we can open on a rainy day and remember. Love is a word that stirs the soul and is heard around the world as the universal word for hope.

Mike

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Author Mike OConnor: Easter yesterday and today

Author Mike OConnor: Easter yesterday and today:       Coloring eggs in five different bowls, using the cardboard package as the egg holders. The whole house smelled like vinegar, and the ...

Easter yesterday and today

     Coloring eggs in five different bowls, using the cardboard package as the egg holders. The whole house smelled like vinegar, and the laughter between siblings rang out as creative mixtures of various colors produced some wild looking eggs. Yesterday mom and dad secretly brought in bags of tomorrows goodies and hid them until the night before Easter when we were fast asleep. They treasured those moments together filling our baskets with jelly beans, chocolate eggs and one big solid chocolate rabbit for each of us. They would hide our baskets in the house where we would search for what seemed an eternity before finding our colorful baskets filled with sweet delights. Back then the colored eggs we made the night before were also hidden inside of the house, in plants, under the couch, in a closet and other places I’m sure they enjoyed hiding them as much as we did finding them.

     Easter Sunday meant going to church dressed in our finest clothes bought for just that occasion. My mom would help the girls with their hair and made sure their dresses were everything they had hoped for. Dad put on my bowtie, slicked my hair back with butch wax and showed me how to brush my shoes with his horsehair shoe brush that I still have some fifty-five years later. We sat together in church my mom looking at us with love in her eyes, but also a sternness letting us know to sit still which wasn't easy after eating a hundred jellybeans. Later came Easter dinner with ham and all the trimmings each of us kids now in our play clothes, so dinner didn't mess up our church clothes. We would wear those clothes every Sunday until we outgrew them.

     I carried on many of those Easter traditions that I remember so well. Now my kids do the same. Plastic eggs are hidden now, and the colorful baskets are still filled with jelly beans in twenty-seven flavors. The big chocolate rabbits are hollow but still taste good, and the Easter outfits are new sneakers and some matching shirts and shorts. That's ok though as times change but the traditions live on in one way or another, and I'm just glad I can be a part of it. Happy Easter to everyone

Mike

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Author Mike OConnor: Written journey

Author Mike OConnor: Written journey:       When we are brought into this world, we breathe each second towards our last. We grow and leave the nest only sometimes remembering h...

Written journey

     When we are brought into this world, we breathe each second towards our last. We grow and leave the nest only sometimes remembering how much sacrifice was given so that we could be what we are today. Then as if being forced to remember the memories of the good things begin to fade like weathered paint. We become a version of our past self that holds little in the way of happiness because those brief moments get lost in the scattered life we try to remember.

     This illness affects so many of our beloved ones, leaving us helpless and tired, so very tired of trying to help them believe their world and how they perceive it, is all right. Trying to relive memories with them in the hope that something you say will capture them if only for a moment. We spend our entire life capturing knowledge and storing it away never thinking that someday it would fade away like the last stars before sunrise.

     All of us will reach that last breath that began at birth, and all of us will struggle to remember what has long past, but only some of us will have written it down.

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Author Mike OConnor: The arrival

Author Mike OConnor: The arrival:       The light from the lantern was growing dim as she made her way to the barn like she had done so many times before. There was havoc be...

The arrival

     The light from the lantern was growing dim as she made her way to the barn like she had done so many times before. There was havoc beginning in the dark sky, something mean and nasty that made her quicken her steps. Closing the big door behind her, she placed the lantern on the stall shelf and looked down at the frightened mare about to give birth.

     Slowly she entered the stall pausing every step with an outreached hand getting closer to the skittish animal. With her hand on the mare’s forehead, she began a soothing melody that she hummed to distract from the commotion of branches being broken from trees and debris crashing into the walls of the barn. “Its all right Cindy Lou she whispered, I’m here to help you.”

     The minutes passed with no sense of when the storm would pass but the time for a baby was ever so near. The mare had settled since she came in, probably remembering this was the one that took such good care of her. Always plenty to eat and fresh water to drink. Maybe she remembered all the trail rides they took together and the soothing way she brushed her after a long day on the trail.

     The foal came into the world just the way nature intended it to be. Now the three of them shared the warmth of the stable for a few moments before she left mother and son to start their time together. As she walked back to the house by the light of a beautiful sunrise, she turned and looked at the barn knowing more than one storm had been weathered, and a new beginning was here to help her forget about yesterday’s pains.

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Author Mike OConnor: Monday

Author Mike OConnor: Monday:      Monday morning Cars rush past me as I sit on the stoop, a hot cup of coffee in hand. Drivers of all ages on their way to someplace...

Monday

     Monday morning

Cars rush past me as I sit on the stoop, a hot cup of coffee in hand. Drivers of all ages on their way to someplace with looks of anxiety as some apply makeup while others scream at back seat riders to quit messing with a sibling. I can read the lips of some saying, “It’s too damn early for this" Minivans fly past me trying to stay on time for carpool, and every so often one passes with a single driver sipping a cup of Starbucks. The lucky few. Kids run to catch the school bus dropping backpacks retrieved by a fellow rider and so it is Monday. A mom in her robe runs after the bus with a brown paper bag and a teenage boy who probably stayed up half the night playing video games loses an untied sneaker on the step of the bus as the door closes. I see a businessman using an electric razor as he speaks hands-free probably to his office telling them he's running a bit late.

     After a few hectic minutes, the school bus is out of sight and moms with preschoolers wave and go inside to go on with their day. Elderly drivers head to doctors appointments and those of us who have absolutely nothing to do this Monday, pour another cup of coffee and wait for the return ride home. 

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Author Mike OConnor: The family box

Author Mike OConnor: The family box:       He stood on his front porch, a cup of lukewarm coffee in his weathered hands. In the distance, black clouds rolled in the sky as the ...

The family box

     He stood on his front porch, a cup of lukewarm coffee in his weathered hands. In the distance, black clouds rolled in the sky as the tornado siren began to wale.” Damn it to hell" he grumbled as he went inside and grabbed a small box he kept next to the front door. He scooped up the damn cat, held onto the box and went outside into the already mighty wind. He struggled a bit to get the doors open to the storm shelter, and in doing so, the cat lept out of his grasp and disappeared into the darkness.

     Sitting on a simple wooden chair, he let his eyes adjust as he glanced around the place that could save his life. It was her that made him build this damn place, he was content in the fact that the probability of a tornado hitting them was remote. Now as he sat and listened to the winds blow, and the closed doors shake with a vengeance, he smiled and gave her thanks. “Glad you’re not with me right now," he said to himself a knot of fear crawling through his entire body.

     Minutes passed that seemed like hours, but finally, all was quiet as he waited a few more minutes before opening the doors. The sunlight greeted him as he climbed out of the darkness blinding him for a moment. It was gone, all of it, gone. Where the house once stood only the foundation remained. His neighbor Johns car was in the big oak tree they planted fifty years ago to honor the birth of their only child. Debre was scattered all around, and sirens could be heard coming from all directions. All he could do was sit down on a chair that he didn't recognize and carefully open the box he had been clinging to for what seemed a very long time.

     Inside was a picture of their wedding day, their son’s graduation from west point, the farm they bought and shared for forty-seven years, and the family bible. That was what remained of his time on earth. The rest was blowing around, coming to land at a stranger’s front door or lodged in a tree. He wondered if somebody found some of his things would they keep them or try to find him and return those parts of his life? He got up and tucked the box in his arms then began to walk down the old dirt road towards a place he didn't know. The cat followed behind him, and he thought that was a good thing. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Love revisited

Author Mike OConnor: Love revisited: The love we feel for another human being is a complex emotion to say the very least. Two separate people with separate thoughts and feeli...

Love revisited

The love we feel for another human being is a complex emotion to say the very least. Two separate people with separate thoughts and feelings that through time blend together to create a true love story. I have known love more than once in my lifetime. Love that captured me with all its magical force. I don't believe any of those loves genuinely disappeared, but instead lay dormant in my heart to be revisited when I choose to remember. At this time in my life, I wish for someone to love. Someone to share my days and nights. Someone to hold my hand and walk in silence. Life can be a lonely place for a heart that wants to beat fast again but must rely on the love tucked away waiting to be revisited.

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Author Mike OConnor: Springs splendors

Author Mike OConnor: Springs splendors:      The last remaining piles of snow made way for the rebirth of the land. Soon the sights and sounds of Spring would introduce herself in...

Springs splendors

     The last remaining piles of snow made way for the rebirth of the land. Soon the sights and sounds of Spring would introduce herself in a splash of colors and wonder. Heavy winter clothes were packed away and gladly forgotten for the time being. The row of rubber boots were put in the basement along with ice scrapers and shovels. The snow blower got covered in the garage, and the smoker grill moved outside causing mouths to water with the anticipation of those first grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. Windows were opened for the first time in months letting the fresh scents of April cleanse the house.

     Boats were being uncovered and readied for that first day on the river after the last chunks of ice were gone for another year. Cars that became works of power and art during the cold months of winter were on the streets showing their stuff right alongside the motorcycles that went through complete rebuilds in frigid garages that got a little heat from space heaters. To me, Spring was like a giant curtain that lifted, and all that was frozen and dreary revealed itself in a splash of colors and awe.

     Spring also meant smells. The farmer's fields and the blossoms of fruit trees filled your senses with natures perfumes. The smell of fresh paint and fertile soil. Freshly baked pies that cooled beneath the kitchen window tempting one with a passing thought of reaching for it. The smell of chlorine as backyard swimming pools were shocked into swimmable water. And the mac daddy of all scents freshly mowed lawns. Being a part of all this splendor makes me miss the seasons so much, but I have my memories, and they never let me down. 

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