Posted in metaphor, Nature, poetry

Remember

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

Almost lost amidst dead leaves
and severed limbs,
a nest felled by the storm,
barely more than twigs.

On other walks, it would have been
a mass to be avoided,
side-stepped in the rain.
But reason,
shamed by distant fluttering,
let sentiment compel
a search for life
within that sodden lump,
so plainly delicate and still.

How to quell despair,
when prodding leaves no doubt,
spills a hash of shattered shells,
a mother’s beak still full?

I laid small stones by the debris,
a bed too frail for splitting skies,
crushing hail,
and,
heeding wings,
gazed far aloft at hope.

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Posted in human nature, metaphor

Hats

I wear them when it’s cold and when it’s blazing hot. Winter hats cover my ears and brow, and summer hats shield my eyes and keep my cheeks and nose from frying and blistering.

A fedora of my husband’s was made of a straw-like mesh. He thought it would keep his head cool and wore it to a picnic. When it left a uniform pattern of pinprick burns on his face, it went into the back of the closet for a while, then disappeared.

Some hats will protect you, and others will not.

But this is what I know…

There are those who don’t like hats, and won’t wear them.

Sometimes it’s because they find hats uncomfortable, painful, even, and sometimes it’s because they don’t want their hair messed up.

What I also know is…

Hats can make statements about the people wearing them—regarding taste, for instance, or religious traditions. However, there are those who insist on imbuing deeper meanings and motives to hats. They are often the same folks who are apt to see imaginary hats on people who aren’t wearing them.

…which is to say there is way too much assuming going on about berets and bowlers and cloches and caps, and an absence of the same.

It’s enough to give a person a headache.

(With apologies to René Magritte.)

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