By the middle of May the desert heat was so great that the children were let out of school and the big yellow dog, little girl and her family returned to the cool forest in California for the summer. All were glad to be home to their cabin in the woods, the trees and the woods and the sky above, small and covered with the tops of trees and the clouds above.
One morning the yellow dog was gone, just as he had come. But in no time another dog, a small Sheltie, brown and black and white, came to be with the little girl. And he followed her every where she went and stayed by her side. They followed the trail that she knew. It wound around the forest to a little lake full of shiny rainbow trout. They spent hours and hours, happy hours exploring the forest and the lake and sitting and watching through the trees and listening to the sounds in the forest and feeling the cool air surrounding them.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
THE YELLOW DOG
The yellow dog woke in the morning to a bright summer's day. He lifted his heavy body slowly and stretched it out as long as he could and groaned just a little. He could smell the dry day and the sun filled the room and warmed his long yellow fir. He shook and yawned and went over to his bowls and finished his breakfast. The door was left open and he listened to his people wake up and work their daily chores.
He began his ritual sniffing along the floor, out to the steps and around the garbage out back. He blew out through his nose several times and made the dust puff up. Then he began to trot across the yard and on to the road. The road was not a busy road. There was a rustling through the trees, the evergreens and the maples. A rustling of branches and leaves. He listened for other animals. He listened to the voices of the forest. He did not want to be surprised and he wanted to chase little squirrels and mice. He would like to come across a dog to smell, to touch noses with.
The sky was field of blue. Black birds flue across it as if they had been thrown by a giant hand. The yellow dog ran barking, with his head turned up, his eyes rolled back and his tongue flapping wildly around his mouth. Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Across the sky the birds paid him no mind. They were wild. The dog ran and ran until the birds were gone and he had nothing to do but flop down on the ground. His big head on the cool earth with his breathing hard.
On his way home, he came upon garbage strewn about. Two hot dogs and a hamburger and some chips. He seemed to inhale them, as hungry as he was and returned to his home. A good day in the life of the dog. The next day his life would change. He spent time digging holes, which he loved doing. He would push his nose deep in the ground and then dig madly, push his nose in the ground, then dig madly. He then sat calmly on the porch and looked over the pine trees and the mountains in the distance and listened to the crickets and the frogs and he heard other dogs, too, barking to one another. But he was spent, done for the day, and he watched the sun sinking down over the trees.
The next morning life was the same. He woke up, crunched his breakfast and drank his water and headed out the door to poop and piss. He wandered along the road but came to a car filled with a family of a mother, father, boy and little girl. The back door was open and the dog crawled in the back seat. "Couldn't he go with us?" she asked. She clung to the dog who was bigger than she was.
The car door slammed and the big yellow dog was all locked in and off he went with his new family. A new adventure awaited him and his head lopped out the window as the car started taking in the miles. Down, down the winding mountain. The air was hot and sunny with the summer. These were kind people who liked just being alive and awaiting the next adventure. The little girl cried herself to sleep as she felt that she was leaving the beautiful green mountain but the dog, the big yellow dog, felt the air against his fir and his eyes stayed forward and alert.
After a while, an unknown amount of time, home was a little house in the desert. There were flowers and a small gate, not really meant to keep anyone or anything out. The little girl started school and forgot the forest. She liked the warm ground, the stars that filled the sky at night and her new school. The school was across the street from the house where she lived and her dog walked her to school every morning. In the afternoon when she would stay after to play on the slide and the merry-go-round and jump rope with her little girl friends, the dog would wander over to the play ground, for he waited all day for the little girl and for school to be out. He was a very odd dog. He knew how to climb up the slide and sit up as he slid down. No one suggested that he do this. He would just do this over and over again. The children were made to be very happy at this and he was thought to be the most wonderful dog.
He began his ritual sniffing along the floor, out to the steps and around the garbage out back. He blew out through his nose several times and made the dust puff up. Then he began to trot across the yard and on to the road. The road was not a busy road. There was a rustling through the trees, the evergreens and the maples. A rustling of branches and leaves. He listened for other animals. He listened to the voices of the forest. He did not want to be surprised and he wanted to chase little squirrels and mice. He would like to come across a dog to smell, to touch noses with.
The sky was field of blue. Black birds flue across it as if they had been thrown by a giant hand. The yellow dog ran barking, with his head turned up, his eyes rolled back and his tongue flapping wildly around his mouth. Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Across the sky the birds paid him no mind. They were wild. The dog ran and ran until the birds were gone and he had nothing to do but flop down on the ground. His big head on the cool earth with his breathing hard.
On his way home, he came upon garbage strewn about. Two hot dogs and a hamburger and some chips. He seemed to inhale them, as hungry as he was and returned to his home. A good day in the life of the dog. The next day his life would change. He spent time digging holes, which he loved doing. He would push his nose deep in the ground and then dig madly, push his nose in the ground, then dig madly. He then sat calmly on the porch and looked over the pine trees and the mountains in the distance and listened to the crickets and the frogs and he heard other dogs, too, barking to one another. But he was spent, done for the day, and he watched the sun sinking down over the trees.
The next morning life was the same. He woke up, crunched his breakfast and drank his water and headed out the door to poop and piss. He wandered along the road but came to a car filled with a family of a mother, father, boy and little girl. The back door was open and the dog crawled in the back seat. "Couldn't he go with us?" she asked. She clung to the dog who was bigger than she was.
The car door slammed and the big yellow dog was all locked in and off he went with his new family. A new adventure awaited him and his head lopped out the window as the car started taking in the miles. Down, down the winding mountain. The air was hot and sunny with the summer. These were kind people who liked just being alive and awaiting the next adventure. The little girl cried herself to sleep as she felt that she was leaving the beautiful green mountain but the dog, the big yellow dog, felt the air against his fir and his eyes stayed forward and alert.
After a while, an unknown amount of time, home was a little house in the desert. There were flowers and a small gate, not really meant to keep anyone or anything out. The little girl started school and forgot the forest. She liked the warm ground, the stars that filled the sky at night and her new school. The school was across the street from the house where she lived and her dog walked her to school every morning. In the afternoon when she would stay after to play on the slide and the merry-go-round and jump rope with her little girl friends, the dog would wander over to the play ground, for he waited all day for the little girl and for school to be out. He was a very odd dog. He knew how to climb up the slide and sit up as he slid down. No one suggested that he do this. He would just do this over and over again. The children were made to be very happy at this and he was thought to be the most wonderful dog.
Monday, December 1, 2014
THE SPANIARD
The old woman stood by the door of the classroom. The room was
filled with college freshmen, she and one other would have to sit in the
doorway. She studied each young face. They were easy to see from the
place where she was standing. The sunlight filled the air and poured
through the windows on to the faces of the eager students of which she
was one. The students had come to learn Spanish. Some studied to earn
their degrees, while others came because they traveled to Mexico or
because they were in the medical profession. The old woman had come to
learn her own language. She had been born in a small village in
southern Mexico but had come to America when she was six years old with
her mother and her father. They had traveled up the Pacific coastline,
working the fruit and had settled in Oregon. This had been many years
before. Now she was old and she wanted to return to the little village
in Mexico where she had been born. Many of her relatives were still
living there. She wanted to learn her language, perhaps she would decide
to stay there, to die there, of this possibility she was thinking.
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain," he told the class, "Southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." "Well," she had thought, "her parents had not come for these reasons."
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, some where in his twenties, but other days-older, in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On theses days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many women were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around the face of the earth and her heart had been dead for a long time, until now. Now, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with, these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other women. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one young man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." the old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood the words. She then watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that someday she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shriveled up old woman that even a blind man would not want. Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had , unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of Spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.
There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard.
"Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite, the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last," she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The pedals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house and shut the door.
That September morning was fair. She fixed her attention on the professor who was sitting on the edge of his desk. He was a small man and very handsome. He spoke with a thick accent. "I am from Spain," he told the class, "Southern Spain," he added proudly. "Seville."
The old woman wondered what Seville was like and why he had traveled so far from home. Of course, everyone wanted to come to America, didn't they? Even her own parents had wanted to come to America and they had come, just as this little Spaniard had come.
One afternoon during a class discussion she had asked him just that, why? He spoke only in Spanish during these discussions. "I came for money and to study the theater. In Spain one is only able to study the theater for six months and then no more. Also the libraries in America are extensive, unlike those in Spain." "Well," she had thought, "her parents had not come for these reasons."
She had often wondered how old the Spaniard was. Some days he looked quite young, some where in his twenties, but other days-older, in his forties. On these days his otherwise handsome face could almost appear ugly. His beautiful expressive eyes would take on an almond shape and wrinkles circled them and spread across his forehead. There were some days, she felt, that the Spaniard was not happy. On theses days he could be extremely harsh with his students. She watched him carefully, until she began to wonder at herself and at the way that she would watch him. "Surely this old heart of mine feels alive again," she thought. But she put this out of her mind most of the time because she was practically a dead old woman and he was a young, handsome man.
It was true, the Spaniard was a handsome man. His dark hair curled about the nap of his neck and his voice was rich and deep. His eyes were expressive of all that he felt and this was enough to make any woman fall in love with him, which many women were, this the old woman could see. But these were not the only things that attracted the old woman to him, for there were many handsome men walking around the face of the earth and her heart had been dead for a long time, until now. Now, it was not only his physical beauty that attracted her, what she saw over a period of time was his great intelligence and his great sensitivity. These were his valuable things and even his cruelty, yes, his quick anger, could not spoil what he had been gifted with, these were the qualities that she watched day by day and grew to love.
Early in the fall it became known that the little Spaniard would return to Spain. This seemed far off but made sense to the old woman who was herself planning a return to her own people. "He will be happier," she thought, "although I will miss him."
As the school year progressed all of his students grew to love him more, although he became more frequently unhappy and there were bad days with him as well as good.
Once during the year the Spanish class met in the park for games and a picnic. There the young people played soccer. At this the little Spaniard was very good. He took off his shoes and ran in his naked feet. He ran very fast. The old woman had heard of this game but had never seen it played. She sat under a big tree with some other women. They spoke part English and part Spanish with each other. When one young man came running in from the field to rest, sweat poured from his body and he gasped for air. "You look just like an animal." the old woman had spoken to him in Spanish. The man had not understood the words. She then watched the little Spaniard run and felt sad to think that someday she would see him no more. She wondered more at herself for feeling this. Why would nature play a trick on her now, when she was a shriveled up old woman that even a blind man would not want. Some days she felt very angry over this and could only hope that the love in her heart would not show on her face, the love she had , unwillingly, for the Spaniard.
Finally the end of Spring came and the beginning of summer. All the young students were tired from school and this was especially true of the old woman. She understood enough of her language now to go back to her people unashamed that she had lived so many years in America.
There was only one sadness in her life and it cut through her with a pain that she would never have imagined possible, this pain was the handsome little Spaniard.
"Surely I will not say goodbye to him or I may cry" she thought. "And then everyone will wonder at an old woman wanting a young man." Never had life seemed so cruel. She worked quietly in her garden as she thought. She plucked the last dead buds off her rose bush and tossed them to the ground. This rosebush was her favorite, the flowers were a deep pink and they had a strong aroma. She snipped off five stems that had multiple blossoms and filled a blue china vase with them. "They never last," she spoke aloud to a white cat that played with the petals as they fell from the branch. "The pedals drop off and make a terrible mess, but the fresh ones are always beautiful." She carried the vase into the house and shut the door.
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