Autumn days

 The first cool autumn day brings back memories of walks in the woods, where leaves seem to fall from the heavens, creating a soon-to-be blanket of white. With cautious steps, I venture deeper into the forest, aware that hunters could be nearby, seeking a trophy with questioning eyes.

Chimneys are cleaned, and wood is cut in preparation for the cold winter nights and lazy days spent curled up with a good book. The quiet is comforting, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of a burning log.

The smell of pine mingles with the aroma of cookies baking in the oven, transporting me back to another time spent by a campfire among the oldest pines. But I’m quickly brought back to the present by the kitchen timer announcing that the cookies are done.

As the sun begins to set and the moon rises, I light some scented candles that cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating a soothing flicker that makes me smile. 

My eyes grow heavy as I trace the ice crystals on the window, looking out to see a deer whose life was spared today. I whisper a good night to him as I pull the covers up, watching the shadows continue their dance until they can dance no more. 

— Mike, 2025                                           

Mom

 I am thinking about you, Mom, but that's nothing new. My mind is filled with childhood memories, like holding your hand as we crossed the street to the store, and the loving glances I caught when you thought I didn't see. I reflect on all the years we had together and how I wish for more, but God needed another angel and chose you to sit beside Him, watching over me until my name is called....

I think of you, Mom, when the brightest star above me is the one we watched together while sitting on a blanket, or during the times we walked down a tree-lined street when the rest of the world slept.

We made each other a promise: when I chose to join the Navy, that no matter where it took me, we would never drift apart. All we had to do was look high into the heavens and see our star, knowing we weren't that far away.

I remember you, Mom, when my world turned upside down. You always helped me understand that life isn’t always fair, but it usually comes around. 

I smile as I think of you and the times we shared—the endless laughter and, sometimes, the tears we shed while talking on the phone to say goodnight. I remember the moment when the line went dead; I held the phone to my ear, as I  listened to the silence on your end, and my tears flowed. An emptiness filled my heart with such sorrow, I'm certain God felt my pain.

I think about you, Mom, when I long for your loving touch, when the darkness tries to scare me, and I feel like giving up. I keep your picture in my mind and on my fridge so I won't forget your face, blowing it a kiss each time I begin and end my day.

I know you're watching over me; I feel it in my heart. I see us walking down that tree-lined street as the world slept, both of us in our pajamas, laughing at what people behind closed blinds were thinking. I remember every second we shared and cherish them all. Don't wait up for me, Mom. I still have work to do, but our day will come eventually, when we will spend eternal amounts of time together laughing, smiling, and above all, knowing why we are here.

Mike 2025                                                    

Airborne

 While cleaning out the garage, I came across a plastic airplane model, the very one I used to teach my son to fly all those years ago. It came in a box with a body, wings, and tail, which easily slid together and were ready for flight. I vividly remember watching him struggle to carry it to the open field, stumbling multiple times because it was almost as big as he was.

I showed him how to hold and throw it, but each attempt ended in disaster as it crashed repeatedly. Then I had an idea. I called him over and took the two wings, duct-taping each one to his arms. I explained that birds learn to fly through trial and error, so he should run as fast as he could, flapping his arms until he became airborne. I told him that once he mastered this, he would better understand how the model plane flew. 

Before long, he got the hang of it and began running across the field, flapping his arms with all his might. Just then, my wife arrived and asked what in the world he was doing. "He's learning the miracle of flight," I replied, and she held back her laughter, giving our son a thumbs-up.

I must admit, after about an hour of trying to fly, I was ready to call it a day and ask him to come back. Then the unthinkable happened: he let out a scream, proclaiming, "I’m flying!" And sure enough, his feet were a few inches off the ground—if only for a minute or less—but he was indeed flying. His little arms were flapping like the propeller of an airplane, and when he came to a stop, he wore a smile as big as Texas.

Without wasting a moment, he grabbed the model plane and dashed onto the field, running as fast as the wind. The plane soared higher and higher, passing him by before coming to rest in one piece. “I did it! I flew it!” he exclaimed, laughter spilling from his lips like that of a happy child.

We still share that story whenever we have the chance. As for my son, well, he eventually figured it out, but he always enjoyed being the first to tell the tale of his winged flight.

Mike 2025                                            

Eyes of a child

 Looking into the eyes of a child makes me wonder what they will grow up to be. What will they learn, and will they apply it or choose a different path?  

When I hold a baby who gazes deeply into my eyes, I can't help but think they are searching for something not yet understood and are counting on me to provide answers.  

As I watch a child grow into adolescence, I see a thirst for knowledge and a willingness to learn as they absorb everything they can. It's our responsibility to take the time to teach them so they can prosper in the future.  

When I see a child become a young adult, I sometimes witness rebellion. That’s perfectly normal as long as they believe strongly in their cause and stand by it.  

When we shake hands instead of exchanging hugs, I respect that moment. I know the child has grown up, and their handshake is their word, just as they were taught.  

When they look into my old and tired eyes, I wonder if they remember being my babies, searching for answers that were always there. If they just looked. 

Mike 2025                                   

We'll get together soon.

 He rarely left his small house in the country since she went to be with the Lord. I should have visited him more often, but as the Cat Stevens song says, "We'll get together then, Dad." We talked on the phone, which eventually transitioned to texting, and ultimately fell into silence on both ends.

How is it that growing up in his shadow, filled with love, became a part-time job? Weekend drives to his house were few and far between, usually filled with long periods of silence as his mind had slowed down and his memories remained hidden from outside ears. Sometimes I would show him old pictures, which brought a smile to his face, but mostly his expression was blank as he drifted off to a place far removed from anyone else's sight.

He spent most of his time sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window at the backyard where his beloved wife had once tended to her garden. He pictured her wearing a floppy sun hat and a colorful apron, carrying a basket of freshly cut flowers that she would place in a vase on the table. The vase sits empty now, but not in his mind. When he asked me what I thought, I would tell him they were beautiful, just like Mom.

For reasons I cannot explain, he passed away during one of my few visits. I found him dressed in his Sunday best, his hair slicked back as he liked it, with a picture of our family on the table where he sat. He looked at peace, ready to travel to the heavens, until he found her waiting for him. I took his hand in mine for a moment and thanked him for giving me a life filled with his teachings and for showing me what true love meant.

His house sits empty for now, and probably will for time unknown, as my memories take over and tears begin to fall. I listen to Cat Stevens sing 'We'll Get Together Then Dad,' and that always reminds me of him and the time we lost to silence. 

Mike 2025                                                 

Carousel carver

 He sat quietly, watching his grandpa carve a block of wood into the head of a mighty steed. With each stroke of his tools, he transformed the block, preparing it to be joined with the rest of the body. Eventually, it would make its way to the paint room, where other artists would turn the blank canvas into works of incredible beauty that only they could bring to life.

Every so often, his grandpa would glance at him, gently asking if he understood what he had just done. He nodded in response, feeling a deep affection for that place, filled with the scents of wood shavings, paint, and the relentless pursuit of perfection.

One day, he hoped to be a carver too, but for now, he remained a watcher, learning the names of each tool and their functions. He marveled as his grandpa's rough hands transformed into those of a surgeon, delicately using the smallest of tools to shape what was once just a block, guided solely by his vision of the finished product.

The day finally arrived when his grandpa handed him an apron with tools that had been passed down through generations, along with a block of wood and a confident smile. As he sat there, staring at the block, he envisioned the flared nostrils and sleek neckline of the horse he would create, complete with pinned-back ears and eyes that told the story of a great race that his horse would surely win.

He worked meticulously, pouring his heart into the detail. When he felt deep down that it was finished, he leaned back to admire his work, just like the other carvers before him. He was proud, knowing he had the skills to create a magnificent carousel horse.

For many years, he continued to carve, with his grandpa always watching over him from the workshop in the sky. His tools found their mark, and blocks of wood were transformed into creations that delighted children as they rushed to mount one of his carved horses, complete with flared nostrils and pinned-back ears, ready to race. 

Mike, 2025                                                   

Through time

 Wondering what to write about comes easily for me. All I have to do is remember a time between the 1930s and 1970s, and my mind opens up, spewing out words faster than a locomotive. I loved the years of Bonnie and Clyde and Al Capone, Ginger Rogers, and zoot suits. I can clearly see a café in Paris after the war, where a lonely woman mourned her losses. I can taste the cherry-red lips of a USO volunteer who danced with me for what seemed like hours, and ended up in her bed, holding each other close as memories flashed by us in their own way.

I close my eyes and see the 1950s, filled with hot rods and poodle skirts, drive-in movies where innocence was lost, and letter jackets worn by the girlfriends of jocks. I recall the cool kids with slicked-back hair and leather jackets, while the girls wore saddle shoes, pink sweaters, and carried pom-poms. Street racing, rumbles, switchblades, and soda fountains all come to mind.

The 1960s saw an increase in draft resistance, with some individuals burning their draft cards and many fleeing to Canada. The beginning of the hippie movement was marked by protests for peace and love, characterized by long hair and love beads. Incense and peppermint filled the air, and a concert drew thousands to a farm in upstate New York. The smell of Mary Jane—pot, reefer, whatever you called it—was around every corner. Acid with names like "brown barrel" and "green frog," along with other mind-altering drugs, transported you to places only you could experience.

The 1970s saw hard rock take the stage with bands like Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, the Rolling Stones, and Fleetwood Mac, among many others. The Beatles remained influential as members broke up, drifting further apart and pursuing solo careers that left songs forever embedded in my heart and soul. Late in that decade, something changed: affordable computers brought the world to your fingertips, allowing you to explore from a chair, rather than a van.

The 1980s lost my interest as boy bands and punk rockers filled the airwaves, while skateboard parks rose to prominence and nerds became popular. By the 1990s, I was a married man with a child, and I needed to make changes—mostly for the better. However, this left me struggling to fit into the role of a father, working a forty-hour week and carrying groceries from the family minivan, which replaced my Volkswagen camper.

The 2000s were chaotic years as towers fell and thousands were killed in yet another senseless war that sent many of our boys off to distant deserts, where blood was spilled, and some came home broken, facing demons they couldn't fight.

In these current years, filled with violence and hatred, with needless shootings claiming hundreds of lives and a sense of impending doom, I’m grateful for the simpler times I experienced growing up. I cherish my memories of the years before my birth and those leading up to now. I wish they would bring back zoot suits, jukeboxes playing 45s, and sharing a malt with your favorite girl. It doesn’t hurt to dream. 

Some of my years and events may not be exactly correct, but I think you'll remember those you lived in and maybe some you wished you had.

Mike, 2025