Photo credit: Scott Hudson * on Visualhunt / CC BY

Buddy’s cold wet nose nuzzled my face at four thirty. His bladder was dependable and insistent. I burrowed beneath the covers. Buddy thought we were playing tug of war and pulled the covers off the bed. I sat so he wouldn’t whimper.

I groaned and threw my feet over the edge. The floor was freezing, and I saw the faint fog of my breath. I grabbed the sweatpants and shirt I wore yesterday and pulled them on while Buddy cavorted around the room. Fumbling under the bed I found my hiking boots and pushed my bare feet in and laced them.

“Ok, Buddy. We’re going. Can you wait for me to get coffee?”

Buddy cocked his golden head, and I took it as a yes. The pot held yesterday’s coffee, enough to warm a cup in the microwave. I retrieved my parka and Buddy ran from the room, returning with one end of his leash in his mouth and dragging the rest. I snagged the leash’s trailing end, and we headed for the door. Outside the wind reached my lungs and squeezed. I inhaled the steam rising from the coffee cup before taking a sip. The coffee was warm, not hot, and I downed the rest in a single gulp. Impatient, Buddy dropped the leash and ran. I set the drained cup on the wooden railing and followed him.

The morning’s low tide left a wide swath of hard frosty sand with plenty of smells for Buddy to investigate. We reached the pilings which were the last remnants of the pier. A storm pulled it into the sea two years ago. I let the pier go. I let everything go after the incident. People offered platitudes, promising help, but secretly they hoped I wouldn’t ask. They weren’t uncaring. They didn’t know how to help.

The wind whipped my parka. I didn’t fight. Instead, I faced the wind. Little reminded me I was alive, the wind, and Buddy would have to be enough today.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Photo on Visualhunt

The night shift was boring. Krista and Jordan had been working here for years while I joined six months ago. It wasn’t uncommon to find one of us asleep at our station. The company didn’t care, so long as we responded if something happened. Highly trained experts in our fields, it would take the three of us to man the controls.  So, we sat in the control room and tried to stay busy.

Tired of sitting, I challenged Krista and Jordan to a race. It didn’t take much convincing before we wheeled our desk chairs into the tunnel and marked a finish line. Krista giggled as we lined up and Jordan stretched, flexed his arms and warned us to prepare to “eat his dust”.  The rules stipulated we would sit in our office chair and use only our feet to move towards the finish line.

We lined up and Krista shouted, “Ready, set, go!”

On her mark, Krista and I walked our chairs forward. My feet became tangled in the spokes at the base of the chair and my heels took a beating as I inched forward. Krista adopted an interesting technique. She slouched low in her chair and threw her feet in front of her digging in her heels. Krista then swept her feet back lifting her heels over the casters, throwing her legs to either side. She looked ridiculous, but she made forward progress. I glanced over my shoulder at Jordan who had spun his chair around with his back to Krista and me.

“Jordan,” I yelled, “The finish line is the other direction.”

Krista looked back at Jordan and laughed. We both gaped when Jordan pushed his chair back towards us and the finish line at an alarming rate. Jordan’s backward style suddenly didn’t look so funny and Krista and I put our feet to work. Krista was in the lead and I was stumbling and bumbling along behind her when Jordan shot past me. He stuck his tongue out at me as he passed.

A blaring alarm sounded, and we froze, but only for an instant.

“Stations, now,” Jordan shouted as he leaped from his chair and sprinted towards the control room. Krista raced past me shouting orders. The real race was on.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Photo credit: madrones on VisualHunt.com / CC BY-ND

The first cherry blossoms were springing to life, heralding a beginning. Delicate and sweet the scene unfurled. My heart soared, buoyed in the gentle breeze, I danced. And I danced as petals fell at my feet and the leaves turned green.

Exhausted I collapsed into tall grass which did little to shade me as the sun’s rays strengthened. Lazy summer consumed my will, zapped my resolve.  The perspiration evaporated as I lay and listened to the trees grow and the insects sing. I rose and ran I had work to do. Days stretched to infinity, but time was short.

Too soon the sun burned the maple leaves, coloring them vivid orange, yellow and red. They clung to hope. Chilled winds cast me adrift like the falling leaves and the river’s current carried me. I cared little where it ended, but it ended in ice. My veins, my essence preserved in crystalline structures, suspended in time I waited for the next transformation.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer