G is for Green

She was not well, I could tell. Another migraine, my best guess. That and the never-ending pain of the fibromyalgia. Another man would have known there was nothing he could do. No way to help, other than be quiet, and be there. If she needed him.

But, I’m not normal. I’m not another man. I’m me. While it remained true I couldn’t remove her pain, couldn’t cure her migraine, I wasn’t totally helpless. There was something I could do.

As she sat on the sofa, I sat on the floor, facing her, and in a quiet voice I asked, “Trust me?”

She nodded. I smiled. “Then, close your eyes and dream.” I took her hands in mine, and she closed her eyes, as I captured a dream and turned it into words for her…

Feel the softness of the breeze as it touches your skin, caresses your face. Hear it pass among the trees, the soft music it plays as it rustles their leaves. Open your eyes and look around at the green everywhere you can seen. So many shades, from pale to strong, and light to dark. The way the sunlight filters through the trees, beams hanging in air here and there. Fields of leaves flickering in the light, as the breeze moved them about.

Look to the canopy of the forest you’re in, so high over head. See how it paints the sky in shades of green, filled with gaps of blue, and the gold of the sunlight. Listen as you hear the sounds of pinecones, acorns, and nuts fall through the forest, bouncing off branches and limbs, until they strike the ground.

In the distance, you hear the sound of water in the, flowing in a stream, over rocks, and between the trees. Sometimes quiet, almost silent. Sometimes, roaring in rapids, and maybe even a waterfall.

Now and then, you walk, to another space along a trail, in the forest wonderland. Every time you stop, you drink in the magic of a world that’s real. One not made by the hand of man. One that was there before we were, and will be there after all of us are gone.

For this is life’s gift to you this day. A land that’s alive, painted in the colors of sunlight, blue sky, and an endless sea of shades of green.

Close your eyes, my friend.

And dream.

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#ThursThreads #67 : Not Even Once

My Dad looked at me, handing my 10 day old son to me, “Woah, this fella’s a little ripe!”

I took my son from Dad, “Ripe?”

My wife, Deborah, sitting on the sofa in her house robe, next to my mother, explained, “He pooped in his Pamper, dear.”

I stammered, “Oh! Ripe!”

Dad looked at Deborah, “Lemme guess, he ain’t changed the baby yet.”

She nodded, “Not even once.”

“There ain’t no time like the present!” he announced, heading toward the baby’s room.

Deborah motioned me to follow Dad. Mom was laughing. “I’m gonna like bein’ a gran’ ma!”

Dad stood me next to the changing table. “Put the little fella down.” I did. He handed me a clean Pamper, the baby wipes, and a little blue plastic bag. “Take off the old one, put it in the bag, clean him up with the wipes, put the wipes in the bag too, then put him in a clean one.”

I set the wipes down, opened up the blue bag, and pulled the tape straps on his Pamper. “Holy shit!”

Dad laughed, “Yep. That’s what it is.”

“It’s green!” Dad just nodded, “Like, like…”

“Baby shit,” Dad finished my sentence for me.

He talked me through the changing process, then he told me, “Do this every night before you put him to bed. It stinks. But it’ll show her how much you love her.”

When we returned to the family room, Dad declared, “Now he’s a real man!”

@247 Words
LurchMunster

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I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 67. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.