Blackbirds on snowy limbs…

Surreal, gazing outside my window after a snowstorm, I see blackbirds on snowy limbs, flying from branch to branch. It is as if a dream, the contrast that you can just reach out and touch. Out on the distant path along the creek, you can hear the faint sound of children laughing, playing on the fresh white carpet of snow, possibly tossing snowballs at one another or creating snow angels.

I go in and out, reminiscing on my childhood when I was a young boy in New Jersey. On a day like this, my companions and I would build snow forts on a hill, complete with cardboard roof and holes in the walls where we would watch folks passing by but remaining invisible. I also had a sled that I got for Christmas and I would race down the hills, laughing all the way down. When I got home after hours of playing in the white stuff, I would remove my wet clothes that my mother would place on the radiator to dry. I can still remember the smell of the steam from the clothes.

The memories are many years ago but still linger to this day. Walking out this morning, I would get hits of those long gone by days. I am so aware of the quietude as I watch the snow falling, the bright whiteness of my surroundings, again so surreal. Another blackbird flies across to another limb, searching for food I would guess. A scene like this grabs me by the collar and says “This is the present, this is what is real.” No doubt, it is difficult to not get pulled into this nowness, “Is that a word, nowness?” I thought with a chuckle. This nowness is a scene of black and white, no color, again eerie and a bit surreal. A thought of gratitude appears, glad to be living at this time and place,

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