Plant a story.
The tiny voice from the kitchen called me, increasingly
insistent. I tried to block it out and continue with my work. Now, where was I…
This website was a mess and would require all my concentration to trouble shoot
and fix it. Move this here. Shorten that bit of copy. Replace this photo. Add
this alt tag. Much better.
I sat back in my chair to survey my work, satisfaction
blossoming at the improvements made already and shining back at my from my
computer screen. I stretched and smiled. Time for a break.
I carried my glass to the sink to get a drink of water, and
there it was again. A lilliputian siren song coming from the end of the
counter. Without thinking I moved toward it, first one step, then another, and
soon I was overcome, resistance erased.
As I dipped my hand into the jar and peeled the wrapper
back, revealing the enticing chocolate, I reminded myself that I would eat
better tomorrow.
The beastly feast was
filled with frights,
fangs and claws and flickering
lights.
Table manners went
unobserved;
grunts, farts and loud
burps were heard.
Food was gobbled,
slurped and chawed.
Drinks were spilled.
Bones were gnawed.
The room was left in
quite a state
when we realized the
time was late.
We sliced the cake and
passed it 'round
then at the door, a
pound, pound, pound!
I hurried to the
entryway
thrilled this was the
end of day.
Our guests flowed in my
wake
their hunger and thirst
now fully slaked.
I sent them home with
daddies and mammas
and put my little beast
in his pajamas.
Another birthday.
Another year.
My baby's growing up, I
fear.
Next year we'll do
something less frightening,
like riding tigers or
bull fighting.
The storm brings an early close to the day. Vendors at the Weston farmers market pack up their wares in haste, wind chuffing the tops of the sun canopies and tugging at the poles and tethers.
I pull into my long gravel drive just as the skies burst and
fat drops of rain hit my windshield. I park my truck into the garage, apples
bumping about in the back as our forward momentum stops. I take a deep breath
before tugging my keys from the ignition with a shaky hand.
Rain pummels the earth in sheets creating rivers in the dirt
between the garage and the house. I run full tilt, drenched through before I
reach the kitchen door.
Inside, I shrug off my coat and jeans, leaving them in a
puddle by the door and pad to my bedroom. The sheets and blanket lay crumpled
at the foot of the narrow bed. Pulling on warm sweats and a dry shirt I ponder
how it was that after all these years I still hate storms.
I was eight when the stream swept me away, lightning split
the sky and my dad screamed for me as he ran along the bank. Tree branches and
pieces of lumber raced me to the bridge where I was finally washed ashore. If
my dad hadn’t been there and pushed the water from my lungs, replacing it with
the gift of his breath I would not have lived.
Tears run down my face, mimicking the cascade of rain on the
windows.
Thunder rumbles, rattling the glass in its pane. I shudder,
wondering how I’ll weather the night.
Kara was tired. Of everything. Last week she quit her job. The week before, she kicked Romeo to the curb. Not literally. Just figuratively. Though literally kicking his lazy, lying ass would certainly have been satisfying.
Each day she carted more stuff from the house to the garage
until there was no room for even the smallest spider to weave its way through.
She’d have to rent a truck and haul it to the Goodwill soon.
She stepped back into the house and surveyed the sparse
furnishings. It was junk. Every last bit of it. Crap. Garbage. Worthless.
Kara pulled the broom from the closet and began to sweep.
Dust bunnies scurried for cover and expansive clouds of dust bloomed before
her. Soon her eyes teared and her nose began to run. She sneezed and swept even
harder.
She remembered being called worthless. By her mother. Her
pop. Her teachers. She used to believe them. But that was behind her. Once she
decided to regain control and direct her own life there was no stopping her.
She was invincible. Stronger than Wonder Woman, though dressed in much more
modest attire.
Cleaning this hovel was a lost cause. So why was she
bothering? With her newfound confidence she could go anywhere and be anything.
Kara plucked her purse off the table and strode out the
door. After a few steps she paused to look back. This isn’t right, she decided.
She marched forward, picked up a corner of the house and hurled
it away. It landed in a heap, now just a shamble of weathered boards, useless
furniture and twisted metal. A single flower poked up from what had been her
bedroom window.
The smile started slow, a mere twitch of the lips, then grew
to light her eyes and tickle her stomach. She flipped her hair and turned
toward the road, eager to see who she would become.
In spring, her bare branches bud fresh leaves.
Mourning doves line them like singers in the choir loft
Days lengthen. Nests shelter the newly hatched
and later, provide a launch point for fledglings.
Summer storms set limbs swinging.
Wind whips and boughs bend scattering twigs across the grass.
Autumn approaches and tired yellow leaves
spin and twirl before other trees begin to color.
Woodpeckers harvest invaders who leave white bark
pockmarked and peeling. Daylight diminishes.
Snow falls, blending with her naked trunk.
Mourning doves line her branches.
The contents of the great sky cauldron
spin and swirl.
Inky tendrils draw together,
enmeshed by invisible forces
to create walls permeable only
by angry gods.
Rain bullets from the heavens
pummeling all below into
submission.
