The Road Unchosen

 

The Road Unchosen

By John W. Vander Velden

 

For we find ourselves on a road we did not choose,

Bound for a destination we do not wish to reach.

 

But though the road ahead is hidden from our eyes

By the mists of times unknown, yet we are forced to travel on.

 

The way is seldom easy, our path often strewn with obstacles.

At times beaten down, onward we trudge,

Even when optimism fails, we continue.

 

Certain we have neither the faith nor courage

We travel on that road until its end.

The road unchosen.

 

But do not travel alone...

(2-23-2022) 92 Words

Hand on the Plow

 

Hand on the Plow                           

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Beneath the bright hot sun, reins looped over his shoulders he labored.  Behind two stout well trained animals with strength and skill he guided the tool.  With hands on the plow as hour by hour he marched the furrow.  A small strip…four inches depth of soil turned and moved to his right filling the furrow left by the crossing before.  Hours pass. Sweat pours. Slowly the sun crosses the sky.  Time and soil tilled the only measure of achievement.

 

Seated upon a roaring machine of red, he feels the thunderous vibrations through his feet, the backside seated upon the hard steel pan but most through gloved hands firmly gripped upon the wheel.  Each pass across the field, a tug upon the rope sets the plow to its work.  Several minutes later another yank convinces the machine to rise.  He can hear nothing above the constant roar of four cylinders driving clawing wheels dragging the two moldboards burying cornstalks and leaving behind clean fresh earth.  His face reddened by the heat flowing from engine and muffler as sitting hour after hour on the tilted beast, wrestling with wheel, brake and rope.  Many days needed to complete this springs task. Many long hard days.

 

Within a box of glass and steel surrounded by levers switches and instruments he finds himself.  Isolated from the extreme roar of the diesel with most of the dust locked outside, he labors.  He must remain watchful as dragging spikes shattering and blending earth as with each hour acres fall. Though his days are long. Though his mind must be fully engaged. He understands the physical demands diminished.  As time passes he wonders.  “What would his grandfather think?”  Smiling he is certain the man would understand, for after all his grandfather was a man with a hand on the plow.  

 

(302 Words) 5-28-2012

 

Waiting

 

Waiting                   

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Alex arrived a full hour before the plane’s scheduled return.  The flight delayed.  He had plenty of time to think.

Few words shared the day Michelle had left.  “A family thing,” all she had said.  “Would you take me to the airport?” Her only question. 

Silent the drive, as Michelle stared out the windshield.  Alex’s mind so full of questions, unasked, fearful of answers unprepared to hear.  Today Alex could not go to the gate.  The hours passed slowly.  Times he paced.  Times he found a seat -- the wait uncomfortable. 

His mind filled with doubt.  Over the years things had changed.  Surely to be expected.  An evolution of their relationship.  A space formed -- a distance between man and wife -- a distance which grew with time.  Unnoticed at its beginning, but now a chasm where outstretched arms seemed unable to bridge. 

When had it become his world…her world? 

For a place, their world, no longer existed. 

The days parted were not many but seemed a time infinite.  Alex’s mind, numb to those around him, ineffective at his work, filled with fear throughout long days and nearly unending nights. 

Now as he stared at the word – delayed -- Alex trembled.  Surely mistakes had been made, much blame lay upon him. 

Once more pacing – fearful – tense -- time frozen it seemed. 

Others arrived, others greeted.  Alex watched as a soldier, tearfully embraced upon returning from where ever.  That woman had waited, waited for the man in uniform. 

Now Alex waited. 

What caused the delay?  Weather?  Mechanical? 

Those questions compounded his anxiety as, looking toward the concourse, as he watched others.  His eyes searched the nameless, wondering if among them Michelle could be found. 

Where was her plane? 

Would she be among others returning -- others returning with open arms and smiling faces. 

Still Alex waited, long minutes meld into another hour. 

Could it be -- in the distance between so many others?  Alex recognized Michelle’s walk, how she held her head.  He swallowed, gasped a short breath, his eyes damp.  Striding forward, with unconfident steps, against the throng, yet never removing her from his vision. 

When Michelle noticed him, a trembling smile came to his lips.  Alex now rushed forward. 

Michelle stood frozen a moment, looking away unable to match his gaze.  When once again she faced him, tears flowed, as she held arms open to Alex’s approach.

Michelle sobbing, “You waited…” Came the muffled words as she quaked within his embrace….

 

(411 Words) 4-16-2012

 

 

Ask

 

Ask?

                       

by John W. Vander Velden 

The man never asked for anything…

He always received all he asked for…

 

Not many do…how fortunate he was.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want things…

He was no different than anyone else.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t need things…

There is always things each person needs.

 

Perhaps he knew…knew that others

Had far less than he.

 

Perhaps he didn’t want to be among those…

Those overly indulgent…

Having so much they had lost track…

Lost track of the things they had accumulated.

 

Perhaps he thought himself a martyr…

A martyr against such excesses…

 

But what ever…why ever…

 

He never asked for anything…

And he always got what he asked for…

 

 (118 Words) 6-28-2008 

 

 

Mark's World

 

Mark’s World    

 

By John W. Vander Velden                       

 

 

Mark moved swiftly through dew damp ankle deep grass with confident steps.  While the morning breaks softly. He watches the morning’s first colors, chasing the dark shadows aside.

Night slowly replaced by gentle light.

As the brightening sky illuminates, he watches the landscape carefully.  

Moving with the rhythm of this world, Mark feels a peace, which in the past was unattainable.  He has replaced the city, its high-rises, its masses, the pushing and crowding, for open country and solitude. 

Mark feels few regrets. 

The pay earned certainly less, but he answers only to God, the weather, the wilderness, and himself. 

The light is good…his Nikon near.  

Mark smiling, attune. 

Light and shadow, color and contrast. His eyes takes time to see, for life is all around.  Morning light best, his realm fresh…this is Mark’s world!!!

 

(130 Words)

Wet Socks

 

Wet Socks

By John W. Vander Velden    

 

My socks wet…shoes soaked through, from a morning walk.

Unplanned.

Quickly decided.

Destination unknown.

Time frame flexible.   

Awakened by robin’s proclamation and cardinal’s invitation, I venture boldly before sun escapes its night’s prison, drawn a field, by lark’s call and blackbird’s flaming wings.  Air calm, sky crystalline, the day virgin, my eyes sweep rolling meadow of thin tall grass dotted with white heads of Queen Ann’s.

Few accept the morning’s gift. 

Others might feel time spent beneath the covers better served.  A brown hare spooked by my footsteps dashes away out of sight. I tread slowly, a smile on my lips, sensing the life all around…feeling very alive.  The new day’s sun ignite sparkling diamonds, the blades more jewelry than plant. 

Wet socks such a small price to pay…as I walk among fresh dew’s glory. 

 

 (137 Words)

Joey

 

Joey

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 Marian Wilkinson bound for the post office.  A card in her mail told of a package there.  Her order from the catalog, long overdue.  A walk of only four blocks…down a quiet street …a clear warm July morning…she did not go alone.  Joey, four foot, slender build, needing thee steps for Marian’s two, easily matched Mrs. Wilkinson’s pace.  At times tugging at the hand whose firm grip kept the boy near.  Joey’s neatly combed hair blended seamlessly with a spotless polo shirt of red and blue bands, khaki shorts certainly pressed, and brilliant white sneakers trimmed by thin red stripes.  The boy bounced tirelessly as they moved along, jumping at times the uneven sidewalk’s seams, coming down firmly on both feet.  Marian smiled at the boy’s antics as they hurried along.  Joey, tilting his head at times, glanced upward into the face of the woman; her smile reflected by his grin. 

A short time later woman and boy headed in the opposite direction.  The package, a foot by foot and three foot long, larger than she had imagined and of surprising weight was perched upon Joey’s left shoulder.  Marian watching concerned, as Joey labored beneath the load.  The six year old with face determined strained to balance and carry Mrs. Wilkinson’s parcel without complaint, smiling when able…proving to his mother that he was a man.

 

(229 Words)