Pale Light

Pale Light

By John W. Vander Velden                             

The cold night air stings nose and lungs as I walk over the rolling snow covered field.  Only the brightest stars, those that dare confront the brilliance of the full moon, dot the dark overhead.  The land lays painted beneath the pale light, the moon illuminating the snowy landscape, reflecting various shades of gray, in the pristine night.  The way I chose leads across the rolling land made more so by ocean like waves, drifts piled and driven firm by winds past, my steps at times labored.  Now air calm, my breath’s steam hanging before me, freezing ice drops in my moustache, carries no sound other than my own.  With eyes sweeping the frozen world, enjoying a different beauty of light and shadow of open spaces shared by none.  Here alone beneath the stars and moon…here alone as I trudge through knee deep drifts…here alone in a world illuminated by pale light…I find myself once more.  As I pause, as I study the night world lit by pale light, as I look in each compass point, seeing no other, a place most solitary I have found.  Yet even here, I know…I am not truly alone…not here in the mid of open land…not here, far from home and hearth, far from those wiser within warm walls.  No, the stars and moon remind me with their pale light…I am never alone!!!

(234 Words)

Pioneers

Pioneers 

 By  John W. Vander Velden 

It seems to me that my parents were very much like pioneers.  They crossed the sea…though never had they been more than a short distance from the place of their birth.  They came to a strange place…a land where they knew few people…a land where people were very different…spoke strangely.  They went boldly filled with dreams and ambitions.  They made a new life.  They did not turn back.

Each of us is a pioneer.  And we, each of us, are bound for a new country.  A place we have never been.  A place we may not be prepared to face.   Yet we are going, perhaps vigorously onward or pushed forward.  The mists hide what lies ahead.  There are those things we can expect, but there are also so many things before us in the unknown.  And so as pioneers we tread onward…onward to a new country…a country filled with challenges, rewards, and disappointments as well. 

What lies ahead of you?  What lies ahead of me?  Only by going onward will that be revealed.  For we tread on a road not taken before…leading at last to an end we know, but the travel…the between the where we are and where we are certain we will reach…that is the unknown land.  Pray for patience, we all shall need it; for a sense of humor, it can only help; for love, it is the only mortar that holds lives together; for boldness, it keeps us upright on our journey.  But most of all pray for courage…for the way is not easy.

So go boldly fellow pioneers…go with dreams and ambitions…face your fears…they, in the end, will not overcome you.  For we each travel to a place we have not been…a place we are unable to see clearly…a place that awaits us.  Pioneers, we travel to tomorrow and the days that follow…to our own personal future…whatever that may be.  Do not be hustled along by that herdsman called time.  Stand tall…face each day…know you do not walk alone…laugh…make music…joyful music…cry when you must…smile when you can…laugh loudly and often… and love…love those that love you…and love those that do not.  And each day when you reach that new place stand firm to what is true, yet learn all it has to teach.  Each day is about growth…growth in ways obvious… and in so many ways that are not.

So pioneers do not fear this new land…have courage…walk boldly into the future!

On the Beach

On the Beach                          

By John W. Vander Velden

The wind blew firmly, cool on his cheeks.   Jacob, deep in thought, walking, the sea on his right, waves breakers crashing on wide white sand beneath the mid-morning sun.  A scent familiar, with the taste of salt, carried by the wind.  Damp sand firm beneath casual steps.  No need for haste, for none shared this beach.  No others sought comfort beneath winter sun or the crescendo of tumbling water and seabirds call.  The plovers racing incoming surf went unnoticed, as the line of pelicans their race above the waves.  Jacob did not see the gulls watching as he passed.  On days when much filled his mind Jacob would escape, seeking solitude.  This day began before sun escaped its watery prison.  The car parked unknown miles behind as hours had past, the only constant wind, sand, waves, and a man walking…alone.  The news given in early morning hours…painful…last hope abandoned.  The words flowed past him…Jacob unwilling to hear.  Yet their seed had found fertile soil…soil deep within.  The seed of those words grew and with that growth shattered what remained of his heart.  Soon he must face her, knowing what he could not accept.  A brave face needed, certainly beyond his ability.  Falling to his knees, beneath the sun, the thunder of surf filling his ears, as sea wind blew his tears away.  Waves washing, splashing thighs, cold yet unfelt as with heart broken Jacob prayed.  There through gasping breaths he pleaded…begging…bargained…willing to give himself…if only…  Through his sobs, unheard among the ocean’s thunder, heart’s questions raised, waiting impatient for any other answer…anything other than doctor’s prognosis.  Fear and pain mixed, the truth’s seed now full grown.  Weak, at last to his feet rising, no answer acceptable found…and yet a feeble beginnings of understanding.  Trembling unsteadily Jacob stood turning, eyes scanning steps behind.  Step prints in wet sand…in places clear…in others waves erased…his tracks lost.  Yet Jacob knew from where he had come…understood destination awaiting…the tracks themselves irrelevant.  As the man drew breaths deep, in the place most solitude, strangely felt not alone.  There on the beach…there where wind blew and waves rushed to shore…there beneath pale sky Jacob understood that pain was shared.  Another closer than his next breath, understood.  The sharing did not take the pain from him.  Yet Jacob knew, from this companion, strength sufficient would come for the darkest days ahead.  A strength…found…on the beach.    

(410 Words) 

Three Little Words 

By John W. Vander Velden

A box clumsily wrapped with wrinkled paper.  The bow had fallen off.  It seemed so out of place among the many brightly wrapped packages.  But on Christmas day when the gifts were opened it was found to contain a few pieces of red and green construction paper glued together in what might seem a haphazard thoughtless manner.  Written with glue and glitter, on this conglomerate of cut bits and pieces, were only three little words…I love you…

As time passed and the other gifts, the ones in perfectly wrapped fancy packages, had been lost, broken, or stored away in some forgotten corner of a closet or attic.  That piece of glued scraps of red and green…that piece of paper with those three little words was stored in a box with other treasures.  No, that box did not contain gold or precious gems.  It was not a box filled with stock certificates or bonds.  Yet it contained the things most valuable, the most priceless things in that home.  A baby’s first picture…a lock of golden hair…a small tooth…and some read and green paper with three little words!

Universe

Universe

By John W. Vander Velden

When writing, time force fitted among many demands, torn from spare moments…too few…too short.  Examining the space…the volume I exploit in that pursuit…I wonder.  For somewhere  between patiently listening to an over stressed wife, keeping a watchful eye on a teenage son and dealing with works demands…there lies this writer’s universe.  Evenings…escape to a cluttered space…my desktop in a small room, elevator music through headphones aid in the isolation.  Other times I use other places, finding seclusion in our almost finished basement, especially during warmer seasons.  Another computer waits for me there…a comfortable though older machine…in a place often cold, for choosing this machine requires a coat in winter.  But if the cat leaves me alone the area can be quite effective and at times my first choice.

Then there are all the other places…other times.  Times when room for my laptop, my only need.  When chauffeuring my son I receive odd glances as I work… bowling alley perhaps or other places his activities have taken me.  Times I find myself at a desk in an empty church…where ever…when ever…

It is not the location…or a specific location that seems to matter.  For when I need to write I use tools at hand…note paper and pen…or keyboard….it matters not.  Those times I leave this world, move into another.  A universe gifted to me.  Words on a screen or letters on paper all I see.  My mind races forward…plot… character… scene…but mostly emotion.  It is the story that controls. The story that comes out of the air it seems. The story alive and all around.  I am part of something much larger, and when I truly find myself there…swallowed by the words…my clumsy fingers fly far too slowly. I am unreachable in my universe…and I might seem alone…but am not!

But if you question…if you must know what is the most important “space” this writer employs?  Then I will simply remind that it all hinges upon a relatively inconsequential volume, best described as the part I cover with my stocking hat when the snow flies… ‘nough said!!!

(404 Words)

In the Afternoon's Light

In the Afternoon’s Light

By John W. Vander Velden

Carl stood in the late afternoon light.  His eyes scanned the open land that lay before him.  Not long ago he would feel walled in, surrounded by countless rows of tall corn.  All that remained, crumpled stalks and chaff, the harvest complete.  Shading his eyes he could see his neighbor’s farmstead, certain the friend that lived there felt much the same.  It seemed that at last he could breathe, that a great weight had been lifted from his weary shoulders.  Now Carl considered the year…not the time from January till…but a time from first tillage until this very moment.  Of early mornings risings.  Of work ending beneath stars.  Of unpredictable rains and days beneath sweltering sun.  Of battles with weeds and disease.  Of days lost to broken equipment…time unreplacable.  But that did not matter…not now.  Grain safely in the bin, the harvest completed…another year finished. 

Forty-four years and each different…forty-four plantings…forty-four harvests, how things had changed!  And yet in the afternoon’s light he saw the things that remained constant.  A farmer, the son of a farmer, the grandson of a farmer.  If someone would prick him…examine the blood that flowed…very closely…surely they would find soil.  For after all these years…all these generations there had to be dirt in his blood.  There could be no other reason a man would face all nature would cast his way year after year …to fight day in and day out from dawn to dusk…clawing onward to another harvest.  The completed task proving once again, Carl the victor.  A smile touched his lips.  “This has been a good year,” he said softly, “ ‘Spect next year will be too.” Whistling Carl turned, a grateful, content man in the afternoon’s light

(292 Words) 

Gratitude

Gratitude                

By John W. Vander Velden

Thursday is one of the big holidays, Thanksgiving.  For most it will mean too much food, watching football, and perhaps a day or two off.  There is nothing wrong with time spent with family and friends.  Nothing wrong with having a special meal.  Nothing wrong with watching the game.  And certainly nothing wrong with about having a deserved day off.  But hopefully that is not where the holiday ends. 

Our society seems most focused on all we have not achieved or accumulated.  The ads aim to entice us, to yearn for the brightest, newest.  Certainly the things that fill our lives are insufficient.  It is our nature to desire those things just beyond our reach. In many ways that desire drives us to work harder, and with hard work we may improve ourselves.  But we must take care that we do not become a society of malcontents, never satisfied, certain we have not received our fair share, or dwelling upon the past and what seemed better days.  Look around…take stock…realize all that makes up your life.  Surely we are surrounded by so much for which to be grateful.  Should we not take quiet moments to reflect…to be grateful for all the blessings of our lives, counting our blessings and among them…love and family…things that money can not purchase. 

One day a year is too seldom to consider the good things in our lives, but perhaps Thanksgiving allows a chance to build a grateful heart…and a grateful heart is open to the needs of others.  Too often the suffering masses of our planet find themselves ignored; rarely does their plight penetrate our busy lives.  Surely the homeless and hungry should not be forgotten or ignored.  As we open our hearts to others in their need, our perspective changes.  We come to better appreciate all we have and find a willingness to share with the less fortunate.  Is that not what Thanksgiving really means…to be grateful and to care.

So on that day of food and football, we should take time to quietly reflect...to be grateful… grateful for all the blessing of our lives. And for those of us of faith, let us take time to earnestly thank the Master of the Universe for all good things.

May you have a happy Thanksgiving and a heart filled with gratitude…

(393Words)