Winter Lights/That One House/Beaver Moon
Two poems for a dark night and a bonus essay about babies and faith.
Winter Lights
I reach through the car window, placing newspapers on country rails. Houses slumber, curtained in gloom. Eerie neighborhoods haunted by ghosts waiting to ambush. Miles of mountain lanes twist around dour redwoods sodden with rain bending their limbs to water-logged earth, swallowing the glow of headlights. Over a hill it springs up ablaze. Multitudes of lights blur on the rain-dappled windshield. One lone pine glows in a coat of winter solstice glory Pierces the moonless night frightens all demon shadows severs my nightmare’s grasp and sends me onward with courage restored.
That One House
For a short time each year Houses glow and trees pop Through the dark Bedecked in colors bright Garish and bold Breaking the somber threat Of winter death. They pierce the gloom Force the dampened spirit To rise above the clouds Ascend the hate, despair, Wanton greed that worms Its way into the soul. For some there is a limit Taking down the lights Storing them away To face the new year's barrage Of sorrow and rage. Then there's that one house The old couple at the end Of the block Who tack them up and let Them shine and gleam For all to see and delight For months to come With the gift of winter light.
Beaver Moon
Last Monday, my daughter, Val, bore our second grandchild, a tiny girl named Maddie. At forty years of age, Val endured a surprise pregnancy that dented her career goals and threatened her health. Knowing what dangers could befall her and the baby any time along the way, I kept my fingers crossed, whispered prayers, and pushed my dread aside so as not to feed the Universe or the wrong wolf. While battling a month-long bout of bronchitis, I asked whatever god exists to keep me alive long enough to meet my granddaughter.
When Val and her husband dropped off our grandson Sunday night, I looked up and saw the brilliant Beaver Moon illuminating the sky. I love full moons and the light they bring to our shadowy world. The moon appeared much larger than usual; almost a Super Moon. Its beauty overwhelmed me as if the magnificence of the Universe lay within its stony core. It spoke to my belief in the power of focusing energy upon either the positive or negative.
I always feel stronger and safer in the full moon’s light and yearn for its absence during the new moon. There is power in a full moon, and it certainly wielded its power Monday morning, not only in my flagging confidence but in the skill of medical personnel to overcome the surprises the Beaver moon brought.
Usually our hospital averages two births a day. Last Monday, seven women crowded into the labor room. One woman suffered violent contractions and nausea, while others lined up for surgeries or to tend to their labors. Val reported for her surgery early because of contractions, bumping her scheduled caesarian to the front of the line. Little Maddie wasn't waiting another moment.
The nurses teased beleaguered doctors about the onslaught of eager babies, all of whom just couldn't wait to dance in the Beaver Moon's light. One doctor pulled an eighteen-hour shift, and the anesthesiologist, with 25 years of experience, fumbled the dosage, making Val's surgery a tad more painful than desired. Befuddlement was rampant in the room that morning.
All turned out well despite the chaos. Our prenatal concerns vanished. Later that day, I held the most beautiful baby ever … of course. Doesn't that happen to every grandma?
Now I'm asking for the bounty of staying alive, cogent, and ambulatory long enough to see both my grandchildren mature to adulthood. To watch them follow their passions and find self-fulfillment, to discover the mysteries and mishaps that lead to unplanned miracles. I want them to know the thrill of galloping full-tilt at one with a horse or putting the final polish on a classic car restored from a rusted hulk. It would please me to see them explore the stunning breadth of what this world offers in literature, science, art and music; to touch foot on multiple countries and converse with new friends from other cultures.
To walk fearlessly into life and be resilient enough to handle the unpredictables.
So, the Beaver Moon opened the Season of Light with at least seven beautiful babies. Many would bemoan bringing babies into such a troubled world; in fact, some people think we should kill the babies to save the planet. It is an old song sung by pessimists who believe their specific era is the worst possible time to be alive. When Val was born forty years ago, I heard those same guilt-tinged refrains. How could I curse an innocent babe with a world in ruins?
But I did and so has Val and thousands of other brave women. Babies have been born in war-ravaged cities, economic depressions, and ghettoes. I even met a man who was born in Auschwitz who contributed his share of talent to the era in which he was born.
So the sad song of impending doom is a fiction based on lack of faith. Life is hard. No one promises success or fairness. Life is also hope and light and wonder. And the Season of Light comes around each year to remind us of our possibilities and to feed the right wolf.
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All my books, Paradise Ridge, When the Horses Come and Go, and Ghost in the Forest are currently available on Kindle.
Ghost in the Forest, is also available in paperback for ten bucks. Paradise Ridge is out-of-print, but the Kindle version is re-edited and better quality. Hard copies of “When the Horses Come and Go” are gone unless that dusty box in the corner still has some.
Book Review of Ghost in the Forest:
"Ghost in The Forest" is a great read! Take note People. If you love stories about environmentalism and nature, its clash with urban mindsets, as well as personal transformation, this is the book for you!
"Ghost in The Forest" is a quick 126-page read. It's the story of Dori, a woman trapped in a mix of grief over parental loss and refusing to accept how her hometown and her friends have changed over the years. Because of this, Dori has become a recluse and a self-imposed misanthrope who finds more comfort amongst the hiking trails around her hometown of Morristown than in her dealings with the raw reality of other humans.
The book, in some ways, resembled Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire” in that the story follows a protagonist's love of nature and angst about humans encroaching on it. In this case, it’s how Morristown is transforming into a mountain biking destination where cyclists run rampant on trails and nature.
However, a tragedy involving said mountain biking becomes a major pivot point for Dori, leading to a series of events that eventually bring about personal evolution and discovery.
If you're a nature lover, this book is a must-read. It beautifully portrays the clash between environmentalism and urban mindsets and the journey of personal transformation. The book's vivid descriptions of nature and the protagonist's love for it will surely intrigue you.
Paradise Ridge Review by western author D. B. Jackson:
If you draw circle roughly around an area that includes northern Nevada, southern Oregon, and southern Idaho, within that circle exists a culture and people who live a lifestyle largely untouched by modern values. These are the "buckaroos" and Basque characters author Sue Cauhape brings to life in her literary novel, "Paradise Ridge".
Leandro, the illegitimate seventh son of patriarch Xavier Arriaga and his mistress, Gisela, is at the center of this intriguing story that travels exceedingly successfully at both the personal level of the characters, as well as the compelling level where the story is told.
Cauhape writes in a literary style that reminds me of Annie Poulx. Paradise Ridge, on the surface, appears to be an upscale Western novel...once inside the pages, you will soon discover a potential classic waiting to be discovered.
I rated this book a 5...because that's all the stars there were.