Darkest Days

I am apt to brood this time of year because the days are so short, especially up here. Like what would become of this world if it didn't spin toward summer? 

Darkest Days

Sol snaps shut the winter solstice.

A tapered steeple on the horizon

fades into the dusk.

The shortest day sinks into inkiness

as I adjust the blinds, not to shut-out

the gloominess but to bring in the cityscape.

Thoughts of the globe stuck

                              in this position stalk me.

Would the Sahara become a zone where

flesh could ignite, and fire in the Australian

outback chew up major cities?

Would unrest spread globally and suicides

become the norm? But, no, Gaia responds

more subtly than making the earth fixed.

I straighten the shades to admit

             the glowing car lights in the distance.

Their pollution unnoticed come sunset.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Fine Dining/Cash Only

I've been out of town for the past week, and, yes, we went back to Barbara's Fishtrap. It's still as I remember it with a line of people waiting to be seated but, more importantly, they now accept credit cards.

Fine Dining/Cash Only

Barbara's Fishtrap:

back door open to the ocean,

a lodestone drawing diners

strung like magnets out the front,

tolerating any type of weather

for their turn at rickety tables

and the catch of the day,

savory as any at the Ritz

just around the corner on Half Moon Bay.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor