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Like Malice
Like Malice I tugged a stone from my cell of soil, My personal earth, curved and grainy in the Bottom of its pock. I saw them — tumbling, They were. And I heard them — cursing, they were. And I was their god, and my glance Hardly touched their humped and hurrying backs As they set about –and without Hesitation– the rebuilding of The lanes and homes and secret sinks of kin And kind, sparing neither glare nor stare For me, the shaker of their roots, but Instead, ran and rang their tiny bells And called a convocation that could point Their group towards a fresh beginning in Tomorrow’s rays.…
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Passages
Mrs. Orr took Dixee to the vet this morning, as she has not been improving. We have been discussing what to do in case the news was grim. The ultrasound and xrays showed no tumor, no growth, but the vet determined she had neurological issues for which they could do little except steroid injections, which would only prolong her decline. So Dixee departed this life this morning with her mama with her, and I trust that now she’s romping in a green field somewhere with her beloved sissy, Bonnie. Dixee came to us via a cranky old woman. A man had approached the old woman with Dixee in his arms,…
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Ailing Dixee
Our little elderly dog, Dixee, has been failing today. Mrs. Orr noticed it right away this morning. She was just off, and even though she ate and drank at breakfast, she wasn’t quite herself. Through the day, she has declined noticeably. The most dramatic symptom is a weakness in her rear legs. She walks and moves as if someone gave her a novocaine injection in her hips. They’re splaying out, weak and trembly, and she seems perplexed by this development. She also seems to be retaining some fluid, her belly distended from edema, which causes her to wheeze and gasp as she’s laying on her side, trying to sleep. Understandably,…
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To An Emaciated Squirrel
To An Emaciated Squirrel I’ve never seen a skinny squirrel before But I can count your picket fence of ribs And pray that you find nourishment before Your young ones suffer in their leaf-lined cribs. ~ S.K. Orr
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Her Majesty
In late afternoon yesterday, I prepared to take our household trash to the disposal station north of us. I gathered the bags and went outside to load them, and I noticed a large bird’s nest on the ground beneath the weeping willow tree. The day had been gusty and the wind had taken the intricate structure down. I started to just ignore it for the time being, but that curious little voice inside me urged me to go look at the nest. There might be eggs inside, said the voice. So I went to the nest, marveling as I always do at the workmanship and careful design a bird can…
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Straightenings
Straightenings The door was open but the light was already off in the office, and the blinds were drawn. The late August sun, powerful still in its old age, probed with dull yellow fingers at the slats and sides of the blinds. Eric sat with his shoulders forward and down, hands in his lap, his nose almost touching his desk. He looked to be at prayer, but his heart was fractured and inward-aimed. He had no words to offer to anyone or anything who had allowed this. Moments stretched out without Eric’s caring if they would ever add up to another hour, moments punctuated by occasional sounds from the hallway,…
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The Lonely Dinner of Keeving Pogue
Keeving Pogue disconnected the call and typed in a terse note for the service desk. He worked from his home every day, fielding customer service calls for the local satellite tv provider, a job that suited his personality and his physical condition. Keeving glanced at the clock on his computer screen and saw that it was almost dinnertime. He had never called it “lunch,” having been instructed by his late father that only damn Yankees and Californians called the noon meal “lunch,” and that good Arkansans like himself should use the proper word “dinner.” He hoped he wouldn’t get any more calls before time to eat. Keeving received one more…
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Caught, Released
I’m finishing up a book, a profile of a very interesting man. The book is The Final Frontiersman: Heimo Korth and His Family, Alone in Alaska’s Arctic Wilderness by James Campbell (2004, Atria Books, New York NY). Mrs. Orr and I first learned of Mr. Korth and his family a few years ago when we watched a Discovery Channel series about him and the few remaining homesteading families in the Arctic Wildlife National Refuge in Alaska. We were quite taken with Heimo and his winsome family, and have followed them via interviews and profiles over the years. The series we watched was called The Last Alaskans, and if you can…
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Rest Home
Rest Home The air was cool in the shop when we Walked into it, through it, and it carried The heartbeat sounds in its own regular Atmosphere. We passed among narrow Aisles, and we stopped at last before One of them, arrested by how still Its pendulum hung. The others all moved And swept and tocked, but this one was silent And immobile, its face a testament To its own end. We adored It, knowing that it had grown still While all alone, away from all eyes That had ever noted it or Admired it or dismissed it. No one witnessed its final swing, its last Hand’s movement. And then…
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Something In The Water
We spent most of the day doing our rat killin’ (running errands, to you Yankees ) and returned home to sit in our chairs on the back porch, fans humming away, watching the thermometer climb to near 90F. Good times. The joints appreciate the lack of refrigerated pain. When we got down to the bottom of the mountain this morning, we detoured over to Pal’s drive-thru and we each got a sausage biscuit, an order of cheddar rounds (sort of like a large tater tot embedded with real cheddar cheese and smushed flat) and a sweet tea. While sitting in the line, I looked over and saw a familiar sight.…