There was no stopping her, no reasoning, the clothes had to be washed and hung, baths taken, all before she could quit for the day.
Everyone sat, a pallor on their faces, avoiding the eyes of the others.
Not Hanna, she had scrubbed the floor with a will, beaten the rugs, swept the back porch and was now doing the washing. There was a glint in her unfocused eyes, she blinked, she must focus on the washing.
They couldn't understand her obsession, no one felt up to anything just then.
Minutes ticked away in a slow procession, each one holding up the others, until Ginny May ran through, irreverent. They tried to stop her, Minerva and Uncle Wes, but she was too quick to be caught.
'Charlie, out in the back, was digging up flowers, he had to be stopped or she was gonna hav to take grief again bout bringing home a stray. Oh lordie how she hated to hear them.'
Ginny May was a flash of sunshine, the others looked at each other when she had passed. But Hanna, she kept on working, Jim would need his shirt pressed.
Out the window, she could see Ginny, as she turned each shovel full of dirt. Hanna burned the shirt as she watched each spade full of dirt, filling the hole.
Showing posts with label Short Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Stories. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Owen
Owen
This is a little story my Dad told me about this guy, Owen... I typed it up pretty much as he told it, I want to change it around sometime, it is a neat little story.
(A good excuse to get my Dad talking about the past, not like he needs any excuse and all...)
Owen walked everywhere, he didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions. In fact he only ever wore tattered overalls and he lived in a little trailer on the edge of his brothers property. Owen would walk past our house every day, on his way to the store. Sometimes Todd and I would see him, walking along the railroad tracks, his beard hanging down, colored yellow by the "Prince Albert" tabacco that he chewed. We would stop and talk to him every once in a while, he liked to talk. He would tell us about World War I and even speak a bit of French for us. Todd and I noticed that he had piles and piles of tuna fish cans piled outside his door, we told dad about it and dad started to give him deer meat from the freezer whenever he passed. After that we noticed that Owen started to walk on the other side of the street, guess he didn't like deer meat all that much. One day Owen was walking by our house, he was wearing a new pair of overalls. My old dog rebel took off after him, tore a chunk of fabric right out of the leg, I still feel bad about that. That was Owen, his family still lives in our neighborhood.
This is a little story my Dad told me about this guy, Owen... I typed it up pretty much as he told it, I want to change it around sometime, it is a neat little story.
(A good excuse to get my Dad talking about the past, not like he needs any excuse and all...)
Owen walked everywhere, he didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions. In fact he only ever wore tattered overalls and he lived in a little trailer on the edge of his brothers property. Owen would walk past our house every day, on his way to the store. Sometimes Todd and I would see him, walking along the railroad tracks, his beard hanging down, colored yellow by the "Prince Albert" tabacco that he chewed. We would stop and talk to him every once in a while, he liked to talk. He would tell us about World War I and even speak a bit of French for us. Todd and I noticed that he had piles and piles of tuna fish cans piled outside his door, we told dad about it and dad started to give him deer meat from the freezer whenever he passed. After that we noticed that Owen started to walk on the other side of the street, guess he didn't like deer meat all that much. One day Owen was walking by our house, he was wearing a new pair of overalls. My old dog rebel took off after him, tore a chunk of fabric right out of the leg, I still feel bad about that. That was Owen, his family still lives in our neighborhood.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Kurena
The dark solemn night, a gentle gust of wind blew, glimmering radiant wings shone, fluttering in the gentle breeze.
Butterfly's in hues of blue, green, bright monarchs, rising upward towards the moon.
A solemn procession of beauty heralding the hopes of a lost world, words uttered in prayer, echoing over the high mountain peaks and concentrated onto the spot where the dawning of a new day had begun.
A child fresh from the womb emerged, her tears cried out to be heard. She was carried by her grandmother, to be hid from the world for three days, a world in which the colors of life had faded, faded like flowers carried many hours.
Sipapu the place of emergence.
Her aunts gathered, braiding the new mothers hair, cleansing her body, restoring her to wholeness. Brightly colored beads were woven into it, signifying her triumph over death.
The baby was bathed and wrapped in a soft doe skin blanket gently nursed at her mothers breast, the life force flowed between them.
On the third day, a meal was prepared, prayers were uttered, and mother emerged with her daughter, stepping out into the hues of the early sunrise, they name her kurena.
Sunrise!
We come at sunrise
to greet you.
We call you
at sunrise.
Father of the clouds
you are beautiful
at sunrise.
Sunrise!
(Native American poetry and some artistic elements found here https://facultystaff.richmond.edu/~rnelson/sunrise.html)
Butterfly's in hues of blue, green, bright monarchs, rising upward towards the moon.
A solemn procession of beauty heralding the hopes of a lost world, words uttered in prayer, echoing over the high mountain peaks and concentrated onto the spot where the dawning of a new day had begun.
A child fresh from the womb emerged, her tears cried out to be heard. She was carried by her grandmother, to be hid from the world for three days, a world in which the colors of life had faded, faded like flowers carried many hours.
Sipapu the place of emergence.
Her aunts gathered, braiding the new mothers hair, cleansing her body, restoring her to wholeness. Brightly colored beads were woven into it, signifying her triumph over death.
The baby was bathed and wrapped in a soft doe skin blanket gently nursed at her mothers breast, the life force flowed between them.
On the third day, a meal was prepared, prayers were uttered, and mother emerged with her daughter, stepping out into the hues of the early sunrise, they name her kurena.
Sunrise!
We come at sunrise
to greet you.
We call you
at sunrise.
Father of the clouds
you are beautiful
at sunrise.
Sunrise!
(Native American poetry and some artistic elements found here https://facultystaff.richmond.edu/~rnelson/sunrise.html)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Drought
Kohana walked through the dusty scrub oak, panting slightly from the heat as he went. It had been unseasonably mild, earlier in the year, so the sudden onslaught of heat left him and everyone else surprised.
He scratched his fur against a pine tree trunk, that was conveniently exposed,hoping to get some of the under layers off that had built up over winter and that he had neglected to pull at during the cooler summer months.
Feeling some relief, he set off towards the cool stream that came down from the high mountain peaks. The area was oddly quiet as he approached, there was something wrong. The waters that had flowed as an unbidden torrent just a few short months ago had been slowly fading into a calm steady flow, he expected less water to be running, this he didn't expect.
The dry raised mud of the creek bottom was cracking in the sun, flies hovering just above the surface and thick dark mud showing where only a trickle of water still flowed.
He surveyed his surroundings, taking in the fresh droppings of black bear who liked to roam these parts and the fresh paw prints of Enola who liked to keep to herself in her old age.
He lowered his head and licked from the trickle, frustrated because his tongue kept picking up creek mud. Mud that while good for the creek, was not so pleasant in taste to the tongue.
He eyed upstream to see if there were any obvious reasons that the waters were so low. Then he turned to head back towards his burrow under some large fallen trees to get out of the sun, slightly dissatisfied with the tepid water.
He thought of following the creek upstream, but decided against any lengthy travel during the heat of the day, and buried himself as close to the rock face near the back of his burrow as he could.
At nightfall he emerged and headed back to the stream for another drink of the tepid water. Disgusted with the state of his water supply he set out, following the chirping crickets who always seemed to find their way to water and the soft sounds of the stream trickling past.
He had walked for several minutes in near silence when he heard a hoot from the grey owl. He heard her take flight, wings swooshing through the air, then the sudden eerie sound of her descending body, rustling leaves and shush of wings again. He knew she had caught her dinner, or breakfast, which ever you prefer.
This distraction almost made him miss the sound of twigs breaking nearby, he readied himself and smelled the air, his heart raced until Enola emerged from the thick underbrush.
"Something's wrong," she began without preamble. "It has not rained for many months now and the stream is almost dry." Her image became more clear to him as she approached.
"I know Enola, I feel instinctively that all creatures including wolves have not seen the likes of this for many generations." He said this in earnestness, remembering a lesson that she had once taught him about impertinence. With anyone else he would have made a sarcastic reply, her forceful manner irritated him, he wondered what she wanted with him.
She sensed his mood despite the respectful cover, her tone of voice raised a little "Kohana, wolves are dying out there! I have run across them myself!"
This news startled him, he had always been a careful hunter, burying thick bones full of marrow for leaner times. He had assumed that all wolves did this, or that things were not as bad as the great heat indicated.
"Enola, let us continue on, standing here is doing no good." She conceded this with a nod of her head in the full moon light and they set off each keeping a pace from the other.
They had walked for many miles, drinking from the tepid water at intervals, not finding any clues as the waters decrease.
Each kept to their own thoughts, until they heard a sudden crack and there was black bear, blinking. They had no desire to meet up with him so they crouched where they were and slowly backed into the forest.
The dark had been dissipating away, by unspoken agreement they headed deeper into the forest to find a place to rest. Kohana found a place to burrow and headed in, missing the feel of the cool stone against his hide at home.
The next day they set off again, following the stream, upwards climbing the rocky outcroppings of the cliff face where a tiny waterfall trickled downward. They walked more desperately as the days grew hotter, and the forest animals which were so easy to catch became treats when they caught them, for they too seemed to be disappearing with the water.
Enola had been visibly worsening, her once lustrous fur had lost its sheen and she stepped more clumsily now. Kohana urged her to burrow in and rest, he was swift and sure footed, he would continue on.
Each day grew hotter, and the stream continued to decrease in volume, even the nights were hot, mocking Kohana with thoughts of his home burrow.
He gazed up at the clear blue sky, as the sun brightened in the morning. He searched for thick clouds, clouds that would end his walk and aching thirst. There was no help there, only the tiniest of clouds mocking his longing with its insignificant mass.
He lowered his head to drink, but found no water. NO! It couldn't be! There had always been something, but now the thick mud lay drying in the rising sun. How quickly the stream had gone!
He turned and retreated into the forest to lay, day he grew weaker each day that he lay there. He had even pawed at the stream digging a hole which filled with water he lapped at it hastily, aware of the sun, no longer caring of the taste.
He lay down beside the creek bed, weary, the sun beating on him. He knew if it didn't rain soon that he would perish, he dimly thought of Enola.
Suddenly, he heard the crack of thunder, he smelled moisture gathering in the air. He lifted his head hopefully as thick clouds rolled in, and it started to rain.
It rained in torrents, drenching his weary body and bringing it back to life again, he lapped greedily at the rushing water.
The sound of swiftly moving water caught his attention and the multitude of logs rushing down the stream, near where he lay. Called to action, he leaped from his place onto a nearby rock as sticks and mud were washed away.
He stood there, reflecting for a moment, then turned and headed home.
He scratched his fur against a pine tree trunk, that was conveniently exposed,hoping to get some of the under layers off that had built up over winter and that he had neglected to pull at during the cooler summer months.
Feeling some relief, he set off towards the cool stream that came down from the high mountain peaks. The area was oddly quiet as he approached, there was something wrong. The waters that had flowed as an unbidden torrent just a few short months ago had been slowly fading into a calm steady flow, he expected less water to be running, this he didn't expect.
The dry raised mud of the creek bottom was cracking in the sun, flies hovering just above the surface and thick dark mud showing where only a trickle of water still flowed.
He surveyed his surroundings, taking in the fresh droppings of black bear who liked to roam these parts and the fresh paw prints of Enola who liked to keep to herself in her old age.
He lowered his head and licked from the trickle, frustrated because his tongue kept picking up creek mud. Mud that while good for the creek, was not so pleasant in taste to the tongue.
He eyed upstream to see if there were any obvious reasons that the waters were so low. Then he turned to head back towards his burrow under some large fallen trees to get out of the sun, slightly dissatisfied with the tepid water.
He thought of following the creek upstream, but decided against any lengthy travel during the heat of the day, and buried himself as close to the rock face near the back of his burrow as he could.
At nightfall he emerged and headed back to the stream for another drink of the tepid water. Disgusted with the state of his water supply he set out, following the chirping crickets who always seemed to find their way to water and the soft sounds of the stream trickling past.
He had walked for several minutes in near silence when he heard a hoot from the grey owl. He heard her take flight, wings swooshing through the air, then the sudden eerie sound of her descending body, rustling leaves and shush of wings again. He knew she had caught her dinner, or breakfast, which ever you prefer.
This distraction almost made him miss the sound of twigs breaking nearby, he readied himself and smelled the air, his heart raced until Enola emerged from the thick underbrush.
"Something's wrong," she began without preamble. "It has not rained for many months now and the stream is almost dry." Her image became more clear to him as she approached.
"I know Enola, I feel instinctively that all creatures including wolves have not seen the likes of this for many generations." He said this in earnestness, remembering a lesson that she had once taught him about impertinence. With anyone else he would have made a sarcastic reply, her forceful manner irritated him, he wondered what she wanted with him.
She sensed his mood despite the respectful cover, her tone of voice raised a little "Kohana, wolves are dying out there! I have run across them myself!"
This news startled him, he had always been a careful hunter, burying thick bones full of marrow for leaner times. He had assumed that all wolves did this, or that things were not as bad as the great heat indicated.
"Enola, let us continue on, standing here is doing no good." She conceded this with a nod of her head in the full moon light and they set off each keeping a pace from the other.
They had walked for many miles, drinking from the tepid water at intervals, not finding any clues as the waters decrease.
Each kept to their own thoughts, until they heard a sudden crack and there was black bear, blinking. They had no desire to meet up with him so they crouched where they were and slowly backed into the forest.
The dark had been dissipating away, by unspoken agreement they headed deeper into the forest to find a place to rest. Kohana found a place to burrow and headed in, missing the feel of the cool stone against his hide at home.
The next day they set off again, following the stream, upwards climbing the rocky outcroppings of the cliff face where a tiny waterfall trickled downward. They walked more desperately as the days grew hotter, and the forest animals which were so easy to catch became treats when they caught them, for they too seemed to be disappearing with the water.
Enola had been visibly worsening, her once lustrous fur had lost its sheen and she stepped more clumsily now. Kohana urged her to burrow in and rest, he was swift and sure footed, he would continue on.
Each day grew hotter, and the stream continued to decrease in volume, even the nights were hot, mocking Kohana with thoughts of his home burrow.
He gazed up at the clear blue sky, as the sun brightened in the morning. He searched for thick clouds, clouds that would end his walk and aching thirst. There was no help there, only the tiniest of clouds mocking his longing with its insignificant mass.
He lowered his head to drink, but found no water. NO! It couldn't be! There had always been something, but now the thick mud lay drying in the rising sun. How quickly the stream had gone!
He turned and retreated into the forest to lay, day he grew weaker each day that he lay there. He had even pawed at the stream digging a hole which filled with water he lapped at it hastily, aware of the sun, no longer caring of the taste.
He lay down beside the creek bed, weary, the sun beating on him. He knew if it didn't rain soon that he would perish, he dimly thought of Enola.
Suddenly, he heard the crack of thunder, he smelled moisture gathering in the air. He lifted his head hopefully as thick clouds rolled in, and it started to rain.
It rained in torrents, drenching his weary body and bringing it back to life again, he lapped greedily at the rushing water.
The sound of swiftly moving water caught his attention and the multitude of logs rushing down the stream, near where he lay. Called to action, he leaped from his place onto a nearby rock as sticks and mud were washed away.
He stood there, reflecting for a moment, then turned and headed home.
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