The Nibbling of a Thousand Ducks

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
a paper clip coming free and falling to the floor,
hemline catching in the chair, papers
scattering,
as I move to pick it up.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the anxiety of a daughter, insistent in her
perfectionism, the temper
flying
crying
dying
wondering if the lying
will stop.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
the check gone astray in the mail,
returned shredded, bill
overdue.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the procrastination of a partner, the pursuit of
the ideal an enemy of good enough, the thief of
hospitality
practicality
reality
trapped in the prosaic banality
of logistics

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is a single peck -
the missing hairbrush, the broken
umbrella.

The nibbling of a thousand ducks
is the boiling of a frog from cold to 100°
Celsius or 212° Fahrenheit if you prefer,
seeping through all the pores, insidious,
unrealized,
until
overload
download
explode.
Wish I was a toad
instead of a frog.

Hot, Cold, Warm

Depression is hot, she said,
a blistering sun on the neck
as I pull weeds in the baking garden.

Depression is cold, she replied,

a fat slush droplet down my collar

as I huddle, umbrella-less, waiting for the bus.

Depression is hot, she said,

the touch of the grill rack

as I flip burgers over flame.

Depression is cold, she replied,

blue-tipped toes in icy sheets

as I shiver by the drafty window.

Depression is hot, she said,

itchy sweat droplets coursing down my legs and back

as I sit in the stifling church, hellfire brimming in my head.

Depression is cold, she replied,

numb fingers fumbling

as I lose a mitten in the drift.

Well, she said,

depression is not, she agreed,

warm.

15 years... wow.

The promise of living

With hope and thanksgiving

Is born of our loving

Our friends and our labor.

The promise of growing

With faith and with knowing

Is born of our sharing

Our love with our neighbor.

The promise of loving

The promise of growing

Is born of our singing

In joy and thanksgiving.

For many a year I’ve know these field

And know all the work that makes them yield.

Are you ready to lend a hand?

We’re ready to work, we’re ready to lend a hand.

By working together we’ll bring in the harvest,

the blessings of harvest.

We plow plant each row with seeds of grain,

And Providence sends us the sun and the rain.

By lending a arm

Bring out the blessings of harvest.

Give thanks there was sunshine,

Give thanks there was rain,

Give thanks e have hands

To deliver the grain.

O let us be joyful,

O let us be grateful to the Lord

For his blessing.

The promise of living

The promise of growing

The promise of ending

Is labor and sharing and loving.

Aaron Copland - The Promise of Living

Happy 15th Anniversary, Buddy - you are, as you have been since I met you, my hero.