Backlit

The Grand Tetons,
Backlit by fire smoke,
The backs of firefighters,
Raging to end the flame,
The fireline continues,
Miles of black flora,
Death.
Then patience.
Green appears,
Even in death, there is hope,
And light.

A Drunken Prayer

My candle flame flickers on my coffee table, a silent vigil that only I appreciate. I pour myself a glass of red wine, an offering to myself after a long day’s work.

Forgive me Lord my trespasses. I am not a forgiving person.

When I was a kid I kicked a boy in the groin to see if it would hurt him. He cried, holding his crotch, and my mom yelled at me. I was no longer curious after that.

I take a sip of my red wine and wonder why over-watering can kill a plant? As if caring too much for something is just as harmful as caring too little. I take another sip. The more I drink the less I care its killing me.

My candle crackles. When I was 9, I almost burned down my garage. I took an empty coffee can, filled it with bark and dry grass, placed it on the wood work bench, and lit it. I clearly had not thought the whole thing through. That’s the beauty of being a child; you’re only aware of the present and ignorant of the consequences.

Another confession, I do not go to church anymore. My apologizes Lord. The calisthenics of a Catholic mass…. sit, stand, sit, kneel, stand…somehow I lost the meaning of the priest’s words as I was calculating the calories I was burning. Maybe that’s why there’s communion, a little replenishment for the famished. “The Body of Christ, the Body of Christ,” the priest would repeat to each patron as he handed out the wafers and wine. I didn’t like eating you Lord, you were always a bit stale.

Lead me not into temptation. This is a difficult one for me. Why did you have to make chocolate so delicious? And men so handsome? I guess if you filled the world with bitter chocolate and ugly men, you would have a lot of moody lesbians and the end of mankind. Good foresight in creating sugar.

The sun sets and darkness descends, a time for supplication. And wine. One can never have enough wine. I think of you Lord, wandering the desert in sandals, and wonder why you didn’t wear socks? It hurts walking on the beach when hot sand sifts in between your sandals and bare feet. I applaud your fashion sense Lord. Wait, maybe I’m confusing you with Moses.

Sometimes in my darkest despair I think of myself as this small insignificant pebble, poised at the edge of the Grand Canyon. I appreciate the view and know a river carved away the layers of earth over eons of time.
But being a pebble I can’t quite see the river. And one day, having absolutely no control, a tourist walks by and kicks me over the edge. I tumble and fall for what seems an eternity until I hit rock bottom. If I could talk as a pebble, I would say, “Ouch! That really, really hurt!” I can no longer see the Canyon and I’m sad knowing I may never have that view again. But then the dust finally settles and I can see the river. It’s colorful, teeming with life, and simply magnificent and somehow I know it was worth all the pain.