Categories
CORE STORIES

SWEET WHITE CORN AND SUMMER TOMATOES

Popsicle sticks writing in hot, sticky tar, on hot streets, on hot summer days.

Sitting on the curb with tanned shoulders bending to the ground by the weight of the sun.

Spider webs sparkling in the morning dew.

Cool, summer streams filling the air with rushing sounds of clear running water.

My dog licking the moisture from my eyes with her sand paper tongue.

Mesmerized by rainbows in water hoses.

Sweet white corn and summer tomatoes.

Skipping to the song of my shoes against the sidewalk.

Sailing through the sky, soaring as if with wings, swinging to the freedom ring of my heart.

Lilacs smelling so sweetly in my room. Lilacs dying with sweet fragrance that I’ll never forget.

Raindrops pounding on the old metal awning in the night.

The smell of broken leaves as I walk.

Embracing cool, crisp, autumn days.

Crickets in the twilight.

The smell of sautéed celery on Thanksgiving morning.

Pictures, paintings and old photos.

The sound of crackling ice beneath my feet.

Sparkling lights dancing off the cold, shimmering ice dripping from the trees.

The smell of fresh pitch seeping from fresh cut Christmas trees.

Christmas tree lights. Sparkle days. “Oh come all ye faithful”.

A soft wind and fragrant, balmy air. Night blooming jasmine.

The fragrance of a Florida grapefruit in Florida.

The first glimpse, the first sound–of the ocean.

A million butterflies hovering over my body flapping their wings.

A light, gentle wind flickering, playfully against my cheek.

Pink neon.

The smell of new plastic.

Soft green oceans and purple morning skies in Mexico.

Blue skies in other lands look different.

Black Russian bread, in winter, in Russia.

White paper clouds hanging from Toronto skies.

Fireworks in Waikiki on New Year’s Eve.

The pitter patter sound of dogs walking on linoleum.

Serious talks and drunken dances…Thunder storms in the night.

Till the beat of my heart and the path that I walk become one.

The rose still blooms; even when it’s fallen, it blooms from there.

Prejudice in Cleveland.

Magical walks down ancient tree-lined streets at dawn and dusk.

The making of an angel.

Sweet, sweet success–exhilarating success.

Reaching the top.

Walking in a rainbow.

Radiant.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

Categories
CORE STORIES

I’m Dead

I’m dead. I’ve been dead for a very long time.

No amount of life can infuse itself into my heart, soul or brain to change the death of me.

Still…I walk, I talk, work, write, love.

How can that be – a dead person still standing and talking about it all?





Categories
WRITTEN IMAGES WW ESSAYS

FOG

Lake Erie disappears when the fog rolls in.

Downtown Cleveland High Rise Skyline disappears too.

All the high rises succumb to the rolling fog.

Then it settles, waiting for its next instruction,

making you feel the comfort of a smaller world.

When it decides to recede, like the waves in the Great Lake it blankets,

leaving a clear and startling new view,

I am always uplifted by the process.

Categories
WW ESSAYS

THE EYE OF THE STORM

  • The eye of the storm. The mind is most powerful when it’s stubborn. The resistance of the mind is like super glue–one drop holds a yacht, keeps a mountain from moving, stops the sea from separating, and creates a frustration so intense in a person witnessing it in another, that it can cause heart attacks, strokes, cancer and who knows what else. Stubbornness isn’t even like cancer; it’s worse. Cancer you can deal with; a stubborn person you can’t. There is no amount of reason one can use, no amount of persuasion, no sum of money or pile of gold, to move a stubborn person who says no to change their mind to say yes.
  • And stubbornness abounds–with more than enough to go around–in all sectors of life, within all groups, cultures and nations. Can anything good be said of stubbornness? No. The ominous cloud of stubbornness has no silver lining. It’s a formidable tool, a weapon as cold and hard-hitting as the atomic bomb. It destroys lives, families, businesses, cultures, countries. It can turn an entire planet upside down. But it rarely destroys the person whom it houses. It is therefore a great protector. The stubborn person lives in the eye of the storm. No matter where they go, they take their storms with them–mowing down everything and everybody in their paths, while they stay secure.

  • Stubbornness is an addiction, like any other, but unlike any other, in that it has yet to be recognized as one. Once a person uses it to get what they want, the thrill of success, perverse as it is, makes it nearly impossible to stop. Stubbornness requires no skill. It’s as easy as eating pie. That’s the allure. It’s easy–too easy–for those who don’t give an owl’s hoot for anything or anyone but themselves. It feels good and it works. It gives control where there otherwise would be none, because the stubborn person has yet to develop the skills necessary to make changes. In fact, they don’t like change.

  • Can a stubborn person become not stubborn? Sure they can, but they won’t. Fear keeps them from it–fear of the unknown, fear of losing their power, fear of losing control, fear of life, fear of living that life, fear of themselves. There are no mirrors where they live, no reflections. They can’t reflect, because they can’t interact. They live in isolation, fearing the world–a painful, hollow, meaningless existence.

  • Is there hope for the stubborn among us? Sure there is. All it takes is a little courage to step out beyond the safety of the eye of the storm in which they live, and feel the havoc they’ve created, accept responsibility for the ruin they’ve inflicted, and then say yes–to life, to living, to giving, to sharing, to learning.

  • It’s not unlike the courage needed by the people pleaser who fears rebuke to say no.

Categories
WW ESSAYS

THE POWER OF THE PLANT

The power of a plant. Winding around the brick wall the ivy fastens itself to the mortar as if for dear life, puncturing wounds into the walls it calls on for it’s survival. The concept of patience and waiting appears not to surface in the ivy’s mission to simultaneously destroy that which it clings to in order to live. But both do survive.

The strength of a plant perplexes the most rigid of minds, as a tree digs deeply its roots to support a mammoth structure that one must cut down in order to tip the hand that sowed it–vulnerable only to the elements and those whose passion it is to own it.

Even plants war for space, vying for their own species sake, the right to a survival one instinctually knows their mere presence proves. Strangling its neighbor, the weaker of the two succumbs–or so one might think. But alas, in nature there emerges a built in blueprint for peaceful coexistence as the strangler wraps its arms around the one it chooses to thrive by, checking its growth to make room for its own, while remaining codependent now, living side by side entangled in each others existence.

To the outsider matters look bleak, but to the plants: the strangler and the strangled; they see it differently. They both survive stronger than before. Even with plants, thought the weakest, next to a stone, we witness the struggle and the solution at once.

So, why don’t we humans pattern our solutions for cohabitation after the plant? Too frivolous a thought, one presumes. A mindless plant gives the solution? Nah. But yes, at the same time.