In the Face of Time:

A tiny fissure suddenly appeared above my lip, safely tucked in a shy smile. The toothbrush hid it, then revealed it between alternate gestures. Like a sin come to roost upon my ego, it highlighted vanity in one surreptitious glance.

Zero weather by day and minus by night had carved this latest assault on my good side. A pitiless blow to fair complexion or natural consequence to reckless behavior?. Time passed over me with neither pause nor respect. The mirror was to deliver blotchy news of seasonal excess in the beloved outdoors.

My loss of grip upon eternity had loosened a string which held features to ossature; as if the puppet master had abdicated his role upon such a rebellious visage. I saw the tendons hinging jaws with mannequin precision. I chewed and spewed and swirled the foam of shame in furious toothbrushing routine.

The crimp of skin now visible under light, a vertical line, a tiny scar of a harsh life risible in sun and snow. I examined patterns of ancestry. Mother had suffered the rigors of expectation in a skin obsessed culture, she had lived with a chain smoker and used her fair share of beauty products on a lifelong basis--to no avail.
Grand-Mother had never considered skincare an essential part of womanhood and yet had fared quite well in the hereditary past. I have also lived with chain smokers, first father then husband. I have left the temperate verdant South of France to run wild with my children in the American deserts..

Wherever I was to park my small mirror, a slow tan was to obfuscate any flaws in my freckled face. I did not attempt to manage sun damage. Neither mine nor tailing mounds of alkaline insult could ruin my determination to survive the elements between water wells or rare salt ponds.

Nor did I slather creams and lotions, much to mother's frustration after reminders and strict orders in letters. I remembered a youth of avoidance and terror. No way to escape the lotion wielding matriarch, bent on cornering me with her dreaded tubes of the newest gunk. Her intent being of producing a thoroughly marriageable damsel to some future suitor of largest means ( and I mean rich)

The deep trenches in her face reminded me of the futility of her expense. I often ran off to school balancing my leather satchel on one hand and a wash-mitten in the other sloughing off the odious goo from cheeks, hair and eyes till I could see the road ahead to flee from the scent and the assault..

Hello wrinkle mine, earned in time through gravel and dirt, through sand storm and wind chill.

Snow Day Now.

Snowy day on the plains. Ensconced in winter-fat,

i wallow in the warmth of the fire.

A cup of chicory coffee fits snugly in my hands,

cupped for comfort after suffering the insult of a north wind

assaulting the woodpile on the porch.

First snow brings a sense of nostalgia to the buds of memory,

rare white stacked inches deep

on hometown ramparts in southern France.

My cape open to the elements.

and me,

sliding and running on the crunchy sidewalks,

mute and numb from bitter biting breeze stirring the fluff.

I have pictures of snows past.

I have cave-woman moments about the wonder of skies

and the event that flies.

Ephemeral moods of uncertain weather,

turned headline news on the local paper.

In my here and now, conditions taint the precarious situation.

Cold aggravates ills and pains, finances bleak on the plains.

So, transient worries ride the magnificent snow flurries.

This is not a poem about global warming or finance washing.

This is the tactile connection with the changing of season.

The taste of sweetness against a melancholy bitterness.

This is just me, enjoying an everyday, a today,

a wonderful cold day of contrast.

Sustopia: the trip back to ourselves.

Sub-topic. about sustopia.

Today, i tracked the path to my blog, how do you find me out there? And i noticed that readers are concerned with keyword usage, tags, categories, links, trackbacks, i'm on the trail to something. I want to explore the one word attributed to a previous post... Sustopia.

Atopia would bring a case of boredom, mindless travels through mere existence.
Dystopia reminds us of the dysfunctional family of man, the neurotic crowding and misery inflicted upon individuals.
Hypertopia could represent the Affluenza syndrome so well depicted in documentary by same name.
Utopia has long been debunked as a dream state of back-to-the-landers' lovely imagination.
Sustopia is a life, artful and sustainable, characterized by achievable compatibility with natural laws and mindful living.

Now Sustainable activity is the social experiment we must strive for, not to belong, not to impress, but to correct the atopic negligence which has plagued the industrial conscience of the past century. With the exception of some clerics, philosophers, artists and scientists, most of society has lived a superficial course through daily living. A life delineated in confusing designs around a clock, a calendar and a paycheck. Yes! each one has a degree of conscionable moments interspersed with less than mindful actions.

In this time of renewed awareness, man has access to scientific data. No more playing hide-and-seek with the conscience anymore. Media carry the message in print, screen and sound. No use closing eyes, it is in the air, the taste of the water, the feel of the cloth. This synthetic subjective shell we have acclimated ourselves to is spoiling our future and our forever.

To reach a state of sustainability will take the efforts of the many. The mental voyage begins in individual homes, anywhere to everywhere. regardless of personality, or socio-economic status, each human has the capacity to reverse the ecologic damage caused by material demands. Not because of mass consumption, but because of compulsive acquisition. It's not the one teddy bear nor one sugary pastry, it's not one more car or one prettier bathtub...it is the sum total of all the consumption by all the people which amounts to an ocean of nasty waste.

Personal interest has catapulted fashions to excessive amounts, credit has enabled purchase beyond means, and neurotic lifestyles have broken down basic sanity. Now look at any green site and read the facts, depress yourself, feel the anger, but not for long. Save the energy to apply to the rest of your days. Energy to engage your senses in the discovery of new ways to attain that rapprochement with your basic nature.

We have been told to bond, to heal that inner child within each of us, well now that we've read or ignored all the self-help books and gone off diets and craft binges in the name of hedonism. One more and hopefully last effort for equilibrium. Let's learn to enjoy nature, no, not bugs and frogs--unless for food or fun?
Nature, ah! breathing clean air, doing our part to keep it clear, i'll make a list of all that one can do toward diminishing damage to the environment..

No, i haven't read the books,writing them, nor obeyed any diet, growing them organically, neither have i done trendy crafts, too busy in daily motion, tilling the grounds of my new lives..treading lightly on vegetation like a careful cat.

There are as many ways to repair polluting habits as there are to promote them, the sane course would be to use the same marketing habits which have driven us to depletion, devastation and degradation. And then to advertise our way back out of this mess we've made of our surroundings. The environment is not some mysterious place out there in the big screen or out of the car window. The environment is not one park with bison and bears, it is you, your couch, your lettuce, all around and inside you. How well do you feel in your skin? In your head? In your home. Tell me..

So on to Sustopia together or separately. Till we learn to live within our ecological means. basics = will it grow back--will it flow downhill and will it kill everything all the way to the fish in the deep deep sea?

A new parlor game: describe each step the building of your newest gadget incurred to reach your home...mining the metal, digging the oil to transport it, melting the plastic, making the ink on the leaflet etc..count the ways, count the cost to each of the lives, and yours, and your descendants...good night, sleep tight, if you can.