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Dismal Day
by Stan Scislowski
April 20, 2001â †As I look out my computer room window I see a dismal morning of low-hanging clouds and rain, and a depressive mood comes over me like a waterlogged blanket hanging heavy on my shoulders. The solid ceiling of clouds weeps a steady drizzle reminding me of a another day so many years removed from this one, a similar day in Italy in late Fall when misery and discomfort weighed heavy on my mind and I wallowed in that awful state of mind known as despair, wishing, yes, actually wishing death would lift that heavy blanket and give me peace.
On that day so long ago now, that my memory, as sharp as it has been for more than fifty years, now strains to bring to mind everything I observed as I peered through a narrow, paneless window onto a dreary landscape of muddy and barren farmland, of a cold rain falling endlessly from out of clouds scudding past scant feet over the rooftops of the battle-damaged farmhouses within my scope of vision; farmhouses like the one my platoon occupied, a farmhouse with part of its roof gone, no glass in the windows, doors off hinges, the room an unholy mess of broken furniture, roof-tiles and the once proud possessions of an Italian family. "Where have they gone?" I wondered, as the bleakness of the day, like acid ate away at what little spirit remained in me.
But that was then. This is another day and I have no reason to let a dark, rainy day get me down in the dumps. Chilling winds are not not blowing through the windows, and the rug floor beneath my feet is not cluttered with the wreckage of war. There's a roof over my head and no long range enemy artillery piece will try to blast me into kingdom come. There's food a-plenty downstairs to satisfy any minor hunger pangs that come over me as I sit in front of my computer picking away with two fingers at the besmudged keys. On the shelves around me are books by the hundreds that I can lose myself in pleasurable or instructive reading when the spirit so moves me. I have places I can go to meet friends, stores to spend money in, so many things I can do to make life interesting and enjoyable. Not so then. Utter boredom, long and fearful nights without sleep, hunger and misery along with the constant fear everpresent on the battlefield, the waning desire for life itself I knew in those dismal days deep in the sloughs of the North Italian Lombardy plains are long gone, and in remembering them and comparing that time with what I see out there beyond my window I emerge from the shadowed closets of my mind knowing that brighter days of sunshine will come again. And I feel good.
Many thanks for Stan Scislowski for his permission to post this.
by Stan Scislowski
April 20, 2001â †As I look out my computer room window I see a dismal morning of low-hanging clouds and rain, and a depressive mood comes over me like a waterlogged blanket hanging heavy on my shoulders. The solid ceiling of clouds weeps a steady drizzle reminding me of a another day so many years removed from this one, a similar day in Italy in late Fall when misery and discomfort weighed heavy on my mind and I wallowed in that awful state of mind known as despair, wishing, yes, actually wishing death would lift that heavy blanket and give me peace.
On that day so long ago now, that my memory, as sharp as it has been for more than fifty years, now strains to bring to mind everything I observed as I peered through a narrow, paneless window onto a dreary landscape of muddy and barren farmland, of a cold rain falling endlessly from out of clouds scudding past scant feet over the rooftops of the battle-damaged farmhouses within my scope of vision; farmhouses like the one my platoon occupied, a farmhouse with part of its roof gone, no glass in the windows, doors off hinges, the room an unholy mess of broken furniture, roof-tiles and the once proud possessions of an Italian family. "Where have they gone?" I wondered, as the bleakness of the day, like acid ate away at what little spirit remained in me.
But that was then. This is another day and I have no reason to let a dark, rainy day get me down in the dumps. Chilling winds are not not blowing through the windows, and the rug floor beneath my feet is not cluttered with the wreckage of war. There's a roof over my head and no long range enemy artillery piece will try to blast me into kingdom come. There's food a-plenty downstairs to satisfy any minor hunger pangs that come over me as I sit in front of my computer picking away with two fingers at the besmudged keys. On the shelves around me are books by the hundreds that I can lose myself in pleasurable or instructive reading when the spirit so moves me. I have places I can go to meet friends, stores to spend money in, so many things I can do to make life interesting and enjoyable. Not so then. Utter boredom, long and fearful nights without sleep, hunger and misery along with the constant fear everpresent on the battlefield, the waning desire for life itself I knew in those dismal days deep in the sloughs of the North Italian Lombardy plains are long gone, and in remembering them and comparing that time with what I see out there beyond my window I emerge from the shadowed closets of my mind knowing that brighter days of sunshine will come again. And I feel good.
Many thanks for Stan Scislowski for his permission to post this.
