My spooky yard

As everyone in my family knows, I have a spooky yard, especially around Halloween.  Creepy crawlies climb up your spine, cold shivers tingle every nerve and a scream is only a short breath away. So I’ll try to explain what happens in the yard when that special time of year draws near.

The yard transforms from endless green grasses, bright red dancing Geraniums and golden Marigolds - whose blossoms shelter seeds from the ravages of winter - to the creeping cold death that must end the life of soft ruffled leaves and gentle pansies.  The Morning Glories close their blooms for good, the green vines becoming stiff and brown, their clinging tendrils swinging in the breeze to grasp at whatever passes. Great swaying trees are bare when their leaves perish and fall, the branches raw and exposed. The friendly chirping birds take flight and leave in their stead, flocks of Ravens, ravenous for food or treasure.  The sky, as far as you can see, is black, with only tiny shining eyes that wink in fear.  It sets the stage for Halloween in my yard.

When the silver moon shines its magic metallic light upon the black bare branches of leafless trees, the ghostly spirits appear and begin their dance. Their feet crunch against the dried, boneless foliage lying prone across the spiky shoots of frozen grasses, while their voices croon among the abundant, abandoned nests of hornets, whose white corpses rest deep inside their self-built coffins. Wispy strings of fog tangle themselves together to kiss the ghosts and caress their translucent faces hidden in shadow, as they twirl across the endless black sage covering the ice cold ground. If you ask, “Who goes there?” you will hear the whisper of names reaching out from all directions, their need to speak, to be heard, to touch you, insatiable, unrequited and forlorn.  Best to turn around, run as fast as you can, or risk being bumped by a bony hand, or rattled by a skeletal frame, until you are lost and all alone in the forest of the forsaken.

©2012 Linda Gatewood

Be Good to Yourself!

One of the cruelest things we do to ourselves is to beat up our morale with regret, remorse and procrastination.  We take the stick of regret and pound away, and then we grab the whip of remorse and cut deeply. On top of all that, every day we take the needles of procrastination and stab ourselves repeatedly all day long.  Why do we do this?  Are we sadists?

Since Autumn arrived, I’ve been thinking about all the things I meant to do this summer, but didn’t.  For instance, I managed to clean up the garage, somewhat, but never got to the large attached storage room which is definitely a warm-weather job. (I picked up the stick of regret and began to pound.) Why, oh why, did I let the time go by and not do it because now it was too late. (I grabbed the whip of remorse.) Another year will go by and who knows what critters will take up abode in that room!  Then, I moved on to the next thing I never got done. 

Thinking these thoughts did a strange thing to me.  I began to feel overwhelmed and helpless; unable to move forward and achieve anything at all.  The days crawled by while I made lists in my head of all my many failures in life.

Then one day I woke up and said, “STOP IT!” This must stop right now! You must be good to yourself! And how would I be good to myself?  Well, I would start by doing what I could to make my life a little more comfortable between me and my conscience.  I hadn’t vacuumed my bedroom floor all week because I was so busy wielding the stick of regret and whip of remorse.  I hadn’t fixed the newly bent curtain rod in the guest bedroom or hemmed the new curtains for the dining room because I was wallowing in procrastination.  I hadn’t called a good friend for a chat because I felt I never had anything cheerful to say.

I wasn’t seeing the beautiful sunsets or hearing the leaves fall gently against each other.  I was missing the scents of dried herbs rubbed together in the spent garden and the silence of insects that no longer buzzed in the air. The rush of hot and cold air, all in one day, against skin tired of being assaulted by the constant burning summer sun; the settled and sleepy landscape, exhausted after producing, once again, for another season.

No more wasting my time using the stick of regret and whip of remorse!  I plan to make myself happy by indulging in freeing my conscious and moving forward, doing the little things that are important, listening to the sounds of Fall, tasting the harvest, keeping hearts and hands busy, looking forward to tomorrow and all the joy it holds.

©2012 Linda Gatewood