A Sudden Storm

The sky had been a still and melancholy gray, predicting rain perhaps, but exuding a false sense of calm.  Mere seconds later the wind tore across the plain in a howling gale, stripping the trees of what small growth they may have managed and stirring up dirt and leaves from last fall.  The rain came almost as quickly, spattering across the ground and windowpanes in a slantwise pattern as dictated by the wind.
People's voices down the block could be heard, yelling to each other as the water froze and large chunks of ice fell from the sky, striking those unlucky enough to be outside, killing the delicate flowers that optimists had planted, believing winter was past and spring had come at last.
The wind battered at the door like an angry bull, whipping through the cracks, bringing with it icy rain.  The house was plunged into darkness as electricity faltered and the buzzing sound common to a twenty-first century house, was silenced.
The minute hand had scarce made its way around the clock's face two times when lights flickered on and the sun beamed innocently in the sky, its radiance erasing most signs that the storm had ever been.

A Ghostly Connection

"Remember that picture I took on the ghost tour back in October?  Did you get a good look at it?"
"Yes!  It looked like a shadow figure- sitting on the headstone."
"Yeah, that one... I was thinking about going back to the graveyard and checking it out."
"I was thinking the same thing!"
A hesitation, then, "So...were you thinking like, today...or that it'd just be cool to go back sometime?:
"Today of course!  We're already here."
Two indecisive, direction challenged girls set out to find a cemetery they had visited only once, at night, six months ago.  The information they had to go on - I remember it was up on the hill somewhere- across the street from the crematorium... 
They drove up to the Capital, turned down a number of residential streets, chased their tail for awhile, until Kate got the foolproof idea- she called her mother... "Um, Mom?  We're trying to find that cemetery...where was it?  Behind the hospital?  Ohhhhh...no wonder we couldn't find it!"
Backtrack, turn some more streets, they might well have been cops patrolling the neighborhood.  Then suddenly both were jumping with excitement - "I see headstones!!"
They drove carefully down gravel roads which passed between the headstones, ending up on winding roads with road blocks at the end which had to be ignored because they were meant to block them from the road they were on...not the road they were going to.  At last they found the very spot in the large cemetery where they had been that night.  They compared the picture to the scene before them.  There was the headstone.  With mounting excitement they stepped onto the grass and walked up to the large white headstone.  It held two names and Kate froze.  It was her last name.  She called Mom again for confirmation.  Yes...the shadow man they had seen that night six months ago had been sitting on a headstone in Kate's family - she had seen her ancestor who had died over a hundred years ago!

A Feeding Frenzy

A sudden pounding of wings.  One duck flapping furiously across the water was all it took to break the calm surrounding the lake.  In a matter of seconds every fowl in the lake had become aware of the sighting and all were making their way towards where the thoughtful visitors were tossing bread.  Winged mammals must share a common tongue, for as the ducks and geese at the far end were still making the journey towards the food, seagulls began circling above.  They screamed their shrill cries, diving and rising and flapping about.  Their cacophany attracted more and more, but as the flood of seagulls came in, the supply ran out.
With nothing left to offer, the benefactors abandoned their post, but still the seagulls came.  More intelligent than their friends in the air, the ducks and geese drifted off, back to the center of the lake and their activities before the excitement had cut into their afternoon.  But the seagulls kept swarming in, screeching and circling a full quarter hour after all sign of the food had disappeared.  Finally the birds drifted off- a couple at a time before the main body followed, leaving a few stragglers holding out hope before they too, disappeared across the cloud-studded sky, in search of a more promising location.

Built For Peace, But Bearing Signs of War

It was the grandest park I'd ever seen, if you didn't count the royal gardens of Versailles which were marked with the beauty only an excess of wealth could afford.  Tall, wrought-iron gates enclosed the area - the sign above proclaimed "International Peace Gardens".  We'd been once before, but that was several months ago and in the dark.  It was the park I'd labelled Narnia after C.S. Lewis' books, for it held two lion statues - one I called Aslan and I decided the other was the lion who had been turned to stone in the White Witch's courtyard, for I fancied I could see markings about his nose which Edmund had made in his disrespect.  How interesting that that battle between nobility and rudeness raged in my Narnia as it had in C.S. Lewis's!  Upon the hill just across the pathway from the stately lions stood what could only be the stone table upon which Aslan was slain.
The park was separated into areas designated as different countries.  The gates were closed on this visit, so we walked around until we found a break in the wall- it entered into Korea.  Or rather, what used to be Korea.  Evidence of what must have been a handsome structure remained- tiles still clinging to the walls and a plaque which read, "Here used to stand the Korean Peace Temple".  Moving past the desolate scene, we came to the life-size harp of Wales - a personal favorite.  France held a miniature Eiffel Tower.  Vietnam was the country of my two Narnian lions.  China had quite a set-up, with a small gazebo and bridge (crossing a man-made pool which was bone-dry) flanked by two lions which were very different from those of Vietnam- shorter, more square, somehow less majestic and more mysterious.
Pointing to China's lack of water and the empty flag posts which had proudly waved flags from every country over their contribution to the park the last time we came and the closed state of the front gates, my husband suggested the park may be closing - a thoroughly depressing prospect which made me feel as though peace itself were fleeing from the world and all the promise which had held strong, though it was never fulfilled, was leaving with its namesake- The International Peace Gardens.
Much subdued we continued through the park, beauty everywhere, but scarred by the subtle and obvious defects purposefully made.  Sweden bore a plaque saying it had been there since the 1950s but- apart from that plaque- there was nothing to see.  Switzerland was the most impressive.  A huge, man-made rock represented the Alps.  In front of this stood a little wooden cabin and little wooden paths and bridges wound between these structures, various rocks and trees as they transcended different levels.  Disgust washed over me as I noticed the offensive spray paint- on the rock, on the cabin, on the bridge.
Having noticed the graffiti in its prominence, I began to notice it everywhere.  Small carvings on wooden poles, painted letters on bridges, every bench held two or three indecipherable symbols which crudely branded the scene.
In the center of the park stood a circle of wooden posts, each bearing a different language and an emblem of that county's flag, each wishing peace and prosperity to all, standing in a mighty circle carrying the symbol of the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics.  Our symbol of unity - our pride and connection to the wider world - an event of athletic prowess, where talent, challenge, perseverance, all things good which people strive for, an event inspiring people to do their best-to BE their best, and one of the few things in this world where peace is prominent as differences are set aside in favor of these beautiful qualities for which we all strive.  A teenage boy walked up to this great gathering and began kicking repeatedly at one of the posts, again and again, trying to knock it over.  An overpowering rage filled my entire being at the ignorance and complete lack of respect this portrayed.  I realized that seeing the graffiti was sickening, but, being complete in its destructive influence, it had happened.  To watch this evil take place in front of me, to see quite literally the symbols of all that was best in this world being knocked down by such malicious ignorance, was insufferable.  I opened my mouth but my rage made me mute, which infuriated me further.  What possible excuse could people have for committing such crimes?  Why do they feel the need to destroy all that is beautiful and good?  I passed judgment contradictory to the peace I felt violated that such people who had no regard for anyone else's property or hard work, or even for the prosperity of the world as a whole, deserved only the ghetto and ought to remain their for the entirety of their lives because, at least there they would have nothing of beauty to destroy.  Those who have no respect, no appreciation for the such beauty and blessings, don't deserve to have it.

Earthquake Drill

Either some occurrences are too subtle or else
our observation is inadept. How much do we become
aware of too late or miss altogether because of our inattention?
A question worth pondering and-as is the case with many such queries-
a question discovered in the small occurrences of every day life.
It was math time. A rattling, shaking noise sounded
from the intercom. It didn't start with a bang or any worthy
attention grabber, but gradually registered with my senses.
Even then, it was not perceived as a necessary concern for my brain
and was filtered instead as background noise.
An earthquake drill has a slightly amusing quality about it. Lights
shut off and everyone crouching under desks or tables, urging after two
minutes- standing around uncertainly as informed that the allotted time
under the desks is supposed to be three minutes. The kids questioning
why we need to be under desks and not understanding the reasoning behind
the drill, thinking people van respond appropriately to a situation they
have never practiced. It says a lot about the too often over-looked necessity of explaining "why"- a question which rises naturally to a child's lips and -sadly- is often rebuked.

An Understanding

Difficult people often start out as difficult children.
And for some, there is precious little to be found in the
area of redeemable qualities. Yet every so often, the golden
glimmer of potential os visible. And appreciation after an
absence can lift the spirit in a unique way. Even the most
Unlikely individual is capable of lifting and cheering others.

A Crowd of Faith

There's power in a crowd.  It's an incredible feeling, to be part of a huge movement or purposeful gathering and this was both.  People will always protest what they don't understand, and the animosity can in itself be inspiration to those it's directed at.  A worthwhile cause is always subject to such.  Groups of people lined the streets, singing hymns, providing safe passage for the multitude pouring from the large Conference Center.
It's rather a pity to find so much effort put into opposing something which blesses the world over and is responsible for no personal damage.  Imagine-if people held such concentrated opposition to evil forces.  It seems criminal to persecute forces of good while allowing chains to encircle precious freedoms without lifting a finger to stem the torrent.

Little Purple Pansy

"Little purple pansy with a broken head
You were very pretty, I'm so sad you're dead..."
I sang pitifully to the "Little Purple Pansy" tune learned in Primary, looking at the pony pack I had just purchased from Macey's.  It had met with a misfortune, tumbling from would-be-careful hands.  One of the flowers, in the fullness of bloom, had broken its neck, the heavy head hanging down, held on by the slightest attachment to the stem.  Looking sorrowfully at the lost flower life seemed so fragile, so delicate that it could be so instantaneously destroyed and so deceptive that, but for the break, the flower still looked healthy and alive.
My sister, sitting beside me in the car allowed a mournful silence to pass before saying tentatively,
"Quentin L. Cook's middle name is Lamar.."
I gave her a look suitable to such a random statement and replied, "I like grapes."
"You smell like old people...and soap."
"My dad was a piano mover."
"Dragonflies!"
"Oh, oh fireworks, lovely!"
Laughter seized us both.  "Only you, with only me, could have a conversation like that!"

Spring at Last

It was the type of day that was a perfect as they come- the first day of spring, REAL spring, when the sun shone radiantly in the sky, warming the earth from the winter's harshness, the breeze pleasant and cool.  Birds were singing as they winged their way across the sky.  The beauty evident everywhere inspired one to embrace life heart and soul, rather than simply enduring it.  It was a time of awakening and renewed dreams.  It was an impossible day to stay indoors.
Driving through the hills of Bountiful, my attention was arrested by the stately white walls of the LDS temple as they sparkled in the sunlight, seeming ethereal and other-worldly.  The magnificent building was surrounded by an iron black fence which contrasted perfectly with the brilliant white and added to the beauty of the scene.  An American flag flew in a prominent position on the temple's landscape and I couldn't suppress the glow of pride at the seamless fusion of God's House and the Land of Liberty.  It resembled a perfect unity- a relentless army of spiritual and temporal forces in the ever-present battle for freedom over slavery.  It was motivation, it was power, it was Heaven't Emblem -it was just as it should be.

Traffic Disruption

Taillights lit up as cars braked, a typical occurrence for the time of day termed "rush hour."  Yet the line became a little too long as cars slowed to a speed greatly below normal.  Many cast curious glances around, looking for the accident which is usually responsible for such delays.  Suddenly the cause of it all appeared!  Not a mess of metal and flashing lights- the culprit trotted down the freeway on four legs in a carefree manner-sniffing here and there and jogging along.  Car after car pulled laboriously forward and the escapee's pursuers came into view.  Two men, perhaps in their twenties, running opposite of traffic, several yards behind the long-legged dog.  Both were smiling as though they were quite amused with the situation and perhaps slightly apologetic for the disruption they were causing.  Further up one could see their two vehicles, pulled off on the shoulder- a blue truck carrying a piece of furniture in the bed, and a white car with a rather squashed appearance.  The questions of how the dog got loose - was he riding in the back and jumped out or had they stopped for a bathroom break?  and were the two chasers acquainted or had one stopped out of a Samaritan kindness to help the other? - remained unanswered as the exit ramp loomed nearer and the scene disappeared in the rear-view mirror.

Moving On

"Pull up your pants!" she admonished her peer, who - in the misguided fashion of the day- was displaying the better part of his yellow boxers.  Without a word he yanked his pants up and walked off.
"I'm making a scrapbook," she said solemnly.  "You won't see me after this week."  An eleven-year-old who had already seen too much of the ugly this world has to offer, yet had a smile that could drive away the winter and the songbird's love of music to carry her through.  With half of her years spent here, her strongest ties lay right there in the valley.  She struggles to balance the sorrow of leaving with the anticipated joy for her new life, not always succeeding, but never giving up.

The Cemetery

The letters stood out in bold yellow against a black backdrop, announcing the location of the cemetery.  It seemed rather ill-placed, houses lining one side, a small shack of a business on the other, and all manner of thriving enterprises - primarily restaurants- directly across the street.
A little gravel roundabout large enough for a car's passage encircled the grassy area.  The unsettling aspect came in gazing across the yellow-brown expanse and seeing the sparse scattering of naked trees, which were the only things standing erect.  There were no tombstones, no flowers, just an enlarged emptiness.
Walking across the field, for so it appeared to be, gave one the uncanny feeling that no one had visited the place for quite some time.  Then-invisible from the front of the cemetery, and indeed until one was practically on it, was a headstone, lying flat in the ground.  There were five in all- a number which only made the area seem more desolate- all spread out, isolated even from each other.
The sky darkened and a chill wind started up.  Leaving the lonely cemetery behind with its melancholy air of times past came the most disturbing sight of all - a white real estate sign portraying the words "For Sale" in a bright and cheery blue.

The Memorial

Wilted flowers, broken glass, melted candles standing vigil -
The fading signs of heartbreak from the loss of a young life.
Rocks hold these items hostage from the winds trying to unseat them -
Like the countless hearts seeking to hold on to the angel
Who had so touched their lives and must now fly away.

On the Corner of Keybank

His hair was long and unkempt, his jeans baggy and dirt-encrusted, his teeth blackened.  The sign he held read "Starving father and daughter."  A bundle of clothes and a McDonald's bag sat at the foot of the light post, collecting snow.  It struck me how contradictory his position seemed to the cozy homes across the street - the well-kept cars passing by.
"Here," my husband was handing me a rice crispy treat.  "Give this to him."
The gratitude in his eyes as I rolled down the window and passed out the small offering and the sincerity in his voice as he said "God Bless You," brought my emotions to the surface.  The words "I love you" rose unbidden to my lips.  This man in poverty possessed a profound wisdom - and through him I saw a glimpse of heaven.