The lucky old sun is shinning brightly this Sunday afternoon; no dark clouds are in sight.
The geranium plants, in the southernmost window of the little blue house at the end of the road are having a good day, catching rays, indirectly.
Two die-hard ladybeetles ventured out of the woodwork between the window and the storm to see what all of the excitement is about and to warm up.
Fact is, unbeknownst to those unwanted houseguests; by the time the sun sinks in the west the warm weather beetles will be back in the cracks or dead from exposure.
I spent quite a bit of time outside this morning.
My barred rocks and rabbits receive extra attention in cold weather such as we are experiencing now. Clean housing, fresh water and plenty of food is important in all seasons, at all times.
We pay careful attention to the needs of the wildlife that free range the place as well.
Truth is we derive pleasure, beyond measure, in nature's company.
Last night, while watching TV an object hit the little blue house with an ear-deafening thud.
We thought something fell from the sky or worse; a weight conscious ghost dropped a dumbbell in the attic.
Sherlock donned his cold weather get-up, armed himself with a powerful flashlight and stepped outside to investigate.
Tootie Mae and I waited inside while our protector solved the mystery.
Soon the investigator came back in, with earth-shaking stuff to tell.
My hero reported that no footprints were visible in the powdery snow. Neither did a suitcase loaded with money fall from a plane, nor did a small a spaceship crash land on our roof.
He was almost certain Santa returned to the North Pole when his job was finished. So what was it that perked our curiosity and rattled our nerves?
My brave husband donned his winter outerwear. Armed with a powerful flashlight only and determination, Sherlock checked things out.
Soon Paul Baby returned to base chilled to the bone, but unscathed.
What findings did he report?
Well folks, he discovered a humungous icicle lying on the snow covered ground, broken to bits that had apparently hit the side of the house when it lost its grip.
Several more of the pendent masses of ice resembling stalactites in a cavern were hanging from eve.
Still hot under the collar and heavily armed, he bragged, "I knocked them down one by one." Yep, Paul took out those transparent drips!
The boy within the man had no other recourse; he faced the enemy and took bold action!
It was clear to me that my hero single handedly won another senseless war.
If Lewis Carroll was alive today, he might want to feed his fire that fodder.
I wrote a poem that featured in an anthology titled, "The Best Poems and Poets of 2003."
This writer does not know what reminded me of the nonsensicalness of my work when Paul claimed victory.
Maybe, you can figure it out.
The Frog and I
While walking through the woods nearby my house I came upon a branch that was lying crosswise, backward and forward in the path. I was ten feet tall that day and all sixteen ounces of me quivered, because suddenly I heard a thunderous voice coming from a greener than green big hairy eyed frog !
He asked me why I was trying to move his home in such a manner. Just that morning he awoke abruptly, and that he thought there had been an earthquake, but he lost his remote control and couldn't find the news on his flashlight because he misplaced his thinking cap. When he looked out of his window door his log home was sitting on the highway and that the tree squatter found it fetching to block traffic, while all sorts of legless travelers, dim and witty,including me came walking by.
Before that frog could tidy up and make a mess we stood staring into his window,our hearts pumping and thumping while he tuned up his croak and if that wasn't frightening enough, a dog meowed loudly ,for crying out loud!
I was half - scared out of my shoes!
They were half-scared out of their shoes!
He croaked, and the dog chased the frog, up and down, down and up, up the step and, then; the log home became a brick wall and started to crumble. Meanwhile, I started to fumble. Then, that chamilion -like frog turned into a monster's tree.
I chased myself out of those woods running backward, forward and crosswise, as fast as my wings could carry me.
Meanwhile, I am sleeping here in my burial suit, tuned out, half-in my shoes, with my good eye keenly set on those woods...
Mary Lou Lynch Sartor
Thanks to the readers of "Brazil Buzz" that called and emailed me last week. Folks like you are the wind beneath my wings!
You can reach by phone at 446-4852 or by email at email@example.com.