Brian’s tall frame slunk into the partner’s office. The door closed behind him. This was odd because our tax partner, Elliot Jamison, had left for lunch ten minutes ago. Brian always seemed to carry the look of someone up to no good—large expressive eyes, dreadlocks, and a half-smile. Really more of a smirk than a smile. Less than five minutes later, Brian slipped into the small office we shared and shut the door. Continue reading
I shuffle forward along the forest floor,
impeded by the infirmities of an Old Man.
I rest by a crystal-clear-blue stream,
lost in the futile dreams of a Young Man.
Filling my canteen to the brim, I
drink my fill—water clear and bright.
Standing to resume my walk,
my footsteps are sure and light.
A wind-fallen tree blocks my way,
Old Man’s voice cautions, “go around,
don’t risk harm in those tangled limbs,”
Young Man’s voice asserts, “hold your ground.”
I face the obstacle in my path,
weigh the two voices in my head.
Pick my way around the impasse,
or jump—end up impaled or dead?
I reflect on the wisdom of my years—
marvel at the Young Man’s absence of fear.
It’s early December as I rake the last
of fall’s leaves. Red, purple, yellow—
intoxicating after first frost,
now dull, dreary, and dirty. Piled
in the bed of my truck, we drive
to the dump, racing the season’s
first snowfall.
Time to pull down the snow shovel.
Studies have shown men over sixty-five
ought to avoid shoveling snow. I visit
the gym three days each week only
to stay in Olympic shoveling shape.
So far so good, lots of snow falls
in Colorado, and here I am in my
seventies, shovel in hand. With
Parkinson’s, snow is not all that falls.
Red, purple, yellow—painful bruises.
Some days are easy, four inches
of feather-light powder brushed off
with a push broom. Other days,
the drifts are so tall, even the snow-
blower surrenders all hope.
Then my trusty shovel steps up.
A while ago, a friend of mine died
at his office desk working on a corporate
budget in the early morning hours.
I can think of nothing worse.
Well, dying on the driveway shoveling
snow, that may be worse.
North Idaho Stories 