You're My Snowstorm

You are a blizzard, blowing violently in over the mountains. You rush wildly into every corner, covering every surface in that icy powder. You freeze the world into silence and peace, but also into chaos, traffic accidents, falls, and children playing (not all chaos is bad). Trapped indoors, or exploring out of them, I watch the flakes settle gently. It may be cold, harsh, and difficult to handle, but it is beautiful. You are beautiful. I can both scorn and love the snow somehow, disliking the cold distance that occurs, but enjoying the sun refracting off of the untouched inches of diamond. And though I love to see you go, I hate so much to watch you leave. But I know, in the end, you are not meant to stay. You are my snowstorm, blowing in for the winter and slipping out again as easily as spring melt, so that one morning I wake and you are gone.

The Composer

keep your eyes open when you sing
lest you lose yourself in the music
swept away by the tune
it flows so strongly against the soul
sweeping violins and soaring flutes
notes jumping like silver fish
and the bass of it all
rocks in the streambed
look around you and see the scene
and do not close your eyes
for if the music claims you
as it threatens so often to do
then you are lost to me and I to you
flickering clarinet, gentle harp
I plead with them to leave you be
but you are gone, gone
as your voice soars above it all
rains down its beauty on all who hear
keep your eyes open when you listen
your voice sweeps me away
to strange worlds, oceans deep and wide
islands with palaces built of sound
ringing with beauty in every form
dancing through the hallways
with the conductor's baton
I cannot bear to hear you sing
it sweeps us both away
apart and closer together in exhilaration
sweet and joyful yet painful
for it must end

you must always sing, and I will listen
your voice is the light
the guide to my path
I walk down trails of eighth notes
half notes, sforzando, forte, pianissimo
crescendo and then fall again
leading me through a dark forest with music
someday I'll meet you at the end
and perhaps we shall sing together

Metaphors and Short Stories

The stack of plates was balanced carefully on the tray she held on her shoulder. It wasn't exact- the silverware had gotten stuck between a couple of them, making them sit unevenly. It's a tall stack, but the dinner guests kept handing them to her, and how could she say no? She was just the server, after all. And good service, keeping up the appearance, was necessary to keeping her job here. So she piled them high. It must've been ten plates at least, in varying sizes. Some were dinner plates and some dessert. She even had a soup bowl or two in the mix. And of course the silverware stuck everywhere- two or three pieces for every dish. It kept sliding, but she hadn't dropped any yet.

She just had to walk to the kitchen. That was all. Around her, the guests chattered, unaware of her plight. As she looked ahead, the path seemed so long, and her burden so large. Carefully she steadied the stack with her free hand. Taking a deep breath, she took her first slow step forward. Smooth, smooth, she thought, trying to glide. Her right foot slid forward on the carpeted floor, and then the left. Three steps. The kitchen seemed impossibly distant. But she couldn't stop now. Momentum pulled her onward. That, and a determination to prove that she could do it. And the knowledge of what would happen if she failed.

"You're kidding me! Did he really?" A large man in an ash gray suit laughs and steps back right in front of her. She barely managed to arrest her forward movement, the stack of dishes teetering dangerously. Visions of chaos flashed before her eyes. Broken dishes, dirty suit, red face, angry voice. A fork slipped from its perch on the edge of a bowl and fell to the ground. Her knees bent in preparation to pick it up, but the swaying of the plates convinced her what a bad idea that was. If she picked up that fork, she'd lose everything else. Or at least most of it. She stands frozen for two long seconds before daring to slide her foot forward again.

The man kept talking, heedless of what had nearly occurred. Finally she could breathe as she finished passing behind him. She kept sliding forward.

The crowd was a living obstacle course, shifting unpredictably and in the worst ways possible. Tables got in the way, and children. And every once in a while, another guest would step up and set yet another dish on her tray. Each time, she smiled through her panic. Each time, she thanked them. Each time, the stack grew closer to collapsing. Another fork clattered to the ground. And a knife. She kept moving. Someone else would have to pick them up, for she could not. She heard her coworkers mumbling behind her back.

"Careless"

"Leaving it for us"

"Lazy"

She kept moving.

It was almost over. The door was there. And then her shift was done and she could go home. Just a few more steps, around that table, don't trip on the tablecloth. She was nearly there-

A small woman tried to pass in front of her. The movement took her by surprise and she couldn't stop. So they collided.

The tray turned almost gracefully in the air, seeming to caress her shoulder as it slid off. The plates maintained their stack for a second before gravity and forces beyond their control pulled them apart. A woman's mouth opened in a scream, a girl's in shock. White china becoming a myriad of smaller pieces with a sound like ice on the surface of a lake. Food and silverware bounced about the room. Stains on a nice dress appeared, where before there had been none. Feet tangled together and the attached bodies gave in to gravity.

Frantic apologies ensued. And the yelling that she had feared.

"Careless"

"Not watching where she was going"

"Tried to do too much"

She had tried to carry it all, and lost everything. She had been so close. And yet her failure was even worse for knowing that.