Take a walk they said, you’ll like it they said, something different, a new point of view they said. So I’m walkin’ here, I’m walkin’ there. Always late, missin’ out on the best food, the best views. But ya know what, I like it. Givin’ the wings a rest. Takin’ my time.
Thing is, I’ve forgotten how to fly.
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“How was your walk?” he asked.
“Dumb and boring,” she muttered.
“Your mood?”
“Sad.”
“Your attitude?”
“Unreasonable and self-indulgent.”
“I’ll leave you alone, then.” He turned to go.
“No. Wait.”
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I had forgotten its fullness had arrived until I came upon its reflected shimmer in a rain puddle on the street. Colors not evidenced in its original glow swirled in the eddies remaining after the violent intrusion of car wheels.
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Heat and dust. The little girl kicked a stone down the road. No fair! Sent to the store twice in one day, a quarter clutched in her small, sweaty hand.
At the corner the old woman with the sun hat still worked in her yard. This morning she’d been clipping roses, now she was cutting rhubarb with a sharp knife. Whack! at the ground. Whack! again at the top. A pile of shiny red stalks at her feet, huge wilting leaves heaped on the grass.
Little Girl put her head down and walked faster. Too late. “Barbara Jayne! Would you like to take some rhubarb to your mother?” “No! I hafta go to the store!” She broke into a run. “Your mother makes such lovely pies.”
Little Girl ran faster down the long hill. She stopped at the crossing, hopped into the street as a car horn blared, raced to the curb and up the steps to the store. Inside it was stuffy but cooler. The fat storeman smoked at the back counter, looked up from his newspaper. “Back again, huh?” Little Girl laid the quarter on the counter. “Loaf of bread, quart of milk.” The storeman’s eyebrow shot up. “Please!”
He fetched the milk from the icebox, the bread from the bin, took the quarter. “You got change comin’ or do you want some candy?” “No!” Little Girl grabbed the groceries. “Ma says put it on her account.” She slammed out the door, into the blinding afternoon.
The hill was steeper now that she was walking up it. She was thirsty, should have bought a soda. But Sister would have seen the bottle and told on her. Pooh. She stopped, tried to put the loaf of bread on her head for shade. It wouldn’t stay, dropped in the dusty road. A car was coming! She picked up the loaf, wiped the package clean on her dress and turned her back on the swirl of dust stirred up by the passing auto.
By the time she reached the top of the hill, Little Girl thought a drink of milk might be a good idea. Nope. She’d be in trouble with Sister for opening the bottle.
At the corner, Old Woman had disappeared from her yard, the rhubarb stalks were gone, too. But the big green leaves still lay on the grass. Little Girl looked up and down the road. She looked at Old Woman’s house. No one. Setting the milk and bread at the side of the road, she picked up a rhubarb leaf, plonked it on her head. Cool relief!
Little Girl walked toward home, remembering, in the nick of time, to turn back and fetch the bread and milk from the roadside.
“Hurry up, slow poke! That milk will be curdled by the time you get in here.” Sister stood on the porch. “What do you have on your head?” Ma stood at the kitchen window, laughing.
“Sun hat!” Little Girl tipped her head back, stuck out her tongue.
Sister bounded off the porch, jerked the milk and bread out of Little Girl’s hands. “Come on! Ma’s gonna make a rhubarb pie for dinner. You gotta go to the store for butter.”
Images designed by Hannah Fulop
He had worked for The Company for eight months and had learned. There were three kinds of employees: the Bigwigs, the Wheels and the Cogs. The Bigwigs worked upstairs. The Wheels had private offices. The Cogs slogged it out in cubicles. He was a Cog.
The physical plant was cheap. Walls surrounded the private offices but they did not contain conversations therein. He tried to keep his ears shut, he still heard too much.
Now one of the Bigwigs wanted to know what he knew about the Wheel who supervised him. In the palace intrigue, whose side was he on?
Image from Flickr Commons
She had lived there for ages. When she first arrived, the walls of her apartment were thick. In order to hear what was happening next door she had to strain her ears, even though her hearing was quite good. Over the years, the vibrations, the rise and fall of decibels, the expanding and contracting frequencies, must have eroded wood and plaster. How else to explain? She was nearly deaf but clearly perceived the voices, movements, even the thoughts of her neighbors. They might as well be in the same room as she. They might as well be in her head.
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A Dribble
Bright eyes accentuated by black hoods, two square off. Little, never tiny, they walk a long lineage back through time. Wings extend for battle not flight, both are fierce. One will win the life-giving treasure, that Junco now shelters a seed in the clamp of its beak.
Whenever two hummingbirds strive for dominance at a feeder, whenever they fight over a patch of blossoms, whenever one strafes my head because I’m too close to its food source, I am reminded that hummingbirds, like all birds, are the evolutionary descendants of dinosaurs.
A hummingbird has a T-Rex heart.
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She sits beside the river, resting, watching it run. She knows it is time to get in, move on. But she wants a few more moments to breath, think about where she has been and what awaits.
The river has been wild lately. Too much rain and snow melt, too many sharp rocks, hidden snags. But maybe there is a broad beach at the mouth and a sunset. Or a sunrise? Something more than this cold, shadowy ledge.
She takes a deep breath, the wind seems to settle, the current slackens. She slides into the icy water and heads downstream.
Image by Robin Anderson
In the morning the sky will be clear. Soon clouds will form. Through the afternoon a storm will rage, dark and tempestuous. Occasional, ironic patches of blue sky may appear. Finally, sunset will be brilliant, a gathering calm before the Green Ray.
After nightfall, you will see Forever.
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