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)

Across the Street

 

Across the Street

 

By John W. Vander Velden                       

 

For over twenty-seven years, William did not cross the street. 

 Five days a week William drove to his work, coming north on Harrison Street, turning right, finding a space in the company lot, but he never crossed the street.  Walking into the large building, to the elevator and the third floor.  Out of the elevator, turning right once again, down the hallway…the space between rows of cubicles…those doorless four and a half foot tall gray fiberboard enclosures.  William walked past thirteen, then turned right a third time to a space containing a metal desk and moderately comfortable chair.  It was time to work.  Will placed himself in that chair, as he began booting up the computer, work begun. 

 The hour delegated for his lunch found William in the windowless break room surrounded by walls of pastels…soft blues and greens.  There among others, each day he ate, often speaking of things that really did not matter, but he never crossed the street.  When at last William’s day ended…the task left unfinished to be attacked once more on the morrow…he left the third floor. 

He left the building. 

He left the parking space. 

He left the company lot…but he did not go across the street.  

For across the street was a space…a space reserved for anyone…a space of trees and grass…a small pool of water with bright orange fish…a space where birds could be heard…where the wind could be felt…where the sun would warm…but William never crossed the street. 

(265 Words) 9-5-2013

 

Waves

 

Waves

By John W. Vander Velden                       

When watching the waves...I  sense the power of God...

With wind upon my face, I watch the waves, the rolling water, infinite shades of gray beneath pale blue sky.  Rolling swells, one following another, the same yet each with subtle differences invisible to most eyes…constant but forever changing.  Rising and falling from the distant horizon.  The crests lifting as they approach until no longer able to support water stacked, the tops tumbling forward…breaking…rolling…roaring…as thundering it attempts an invasion up sandy strand.  Swirling water of froth and foam, thundering, as churning sand and water at last stopped, retreating as reinforcement of the brothers that follow.  Is the damp sand victor as the tide is stemmed?  Perhaps today.  But dunes signify the power of wind and water, a power far beyond sand’s strength, as waves drag the grains to sea and air’s force shift and shape.  My ears filled with the deafening crash, sound carried on salty gale, the scent of sea indescribable yet familiar.  Biting cold, I unable to look away though eyes water.  Alone, the sea is mine, for none others walk water’s edge this winter’s morning.  Seeing…hearing…smelling…feeling…the power great...infinite as wind and water link, a union as ancient as time.  Standing vulnerable my smallness overcomes, turning up collar, sliding hands deep in pockets, defiant I do not flee.  Perhaps realizing my insignificance, form clearer understanding, an understanding that can only come by watching waves…

1-24-2015 (226 Words)