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BUY FOR THE KINDLE READER:Reflections at night when the dark is good and we see farther. A short meditation.
Brief Tales on a Whim.
Meditations on the 60th Anniversary of Hiroshima What would the end of the world entail? Do we boast that we can imagine such a thing? 3 short stories. $3 In the apprenticeship period hopes are high.
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RIPE STORIES AND FRAGMENTSAH CHILDHOODOf all the places he camped out in the Scouts his favorite was by the Ocean. The magical Pacific Ocean, right on Drake's Bay where the old English seaman had repaired his ship going around the world. The boy saw the ship and the Englishmen in their rowboats just as he had seen the Donner Party hiking in the meadow as the family drove through the Sierra's. The ocean and its sounds, booming, graceful sounds and the distinctive caws of the sea-birds and stink of rotting kelp. They plaed football in the sand and then dove into the surf to wash the sand off. The tents were arrayed against the hillside where the surf wouldn't get to them. They formed a semi-circle and out in the middle of it was the camp fire where they cooked dinner and sat around telling stories. They talked about zombies and space aliens and sharks out there in the ocean and comic book heroes. Sometimes they would sing silly songs and he would barely utter a sound. His tent partner was Reddy and they got along fine. They goofed around and compared the five or six pubic hairs they had grown since the last summer. They would laugh and laugh about it. Reddy was a good guy. One night while at the campfire he noticed a jeep racing along the sand, stopping by their tent and then disappearing. He didn't think about it until they went back to the tent and he discovered his sleeping bag was missing. He was distraught until the Scout Masters came down and looked around for awhile for the jeep. Not finding it they told the boy to sleep with Reddy in his bag. The boys always wore pajamas at night in those summer excursions out in the mountains or by the sea. He listened to the ocean pounding against itself at night, with little wind in the chill, and the small conversations inside the tents with boys heavy with fatigue, ready to lay down, ready to sleep again, in the raw intercises of nature, then he was gone and away and it felt so soft and easy, the sound of the waves lapping up his ears, the last sounds before dreams took over. Then the immediate chill on his face when he woke up in the morning. The faint light outside the tent, a few isolated voices and laughter. Up boy, up boy! He fought against the cold that drove through him like yellowjackets as he and Reddy warmed themselves before getting dressed. Then elimination out in front of the pounding but softer ocean and a scamper down to the edge to escape the winding tide that popped and fizzed in a jagged line. He kept looking around for the jeep and fantasized finding the jeep and re-stealing his sleeping bag from the older boys who had stolen it. The scouts were divided into patrols, each patrol had five or six members, including the leader. Soon enough the local campfire was set and lit. Warmth would come and go across his skin. Stay busy boy, he would think to himself. Move, move, move. One boy made the breakfast and the others gathered up pieces of wood to feed the fire or brought fresh water from the facet by the parking lot. By the time he tasted his first strip of bacon he was fully awake and looking all around at the expanse of sand dotted with driftwood. Some of the boys ran the full length of the beach, others searched the tide pools for specimins. He liked climbing the rocks that jut out into the ocean and watch the waves crash up and spray everything. Always the caw of the seabirds and the stink of the rotting kelp, the dogs running wild, a football or frisbee sailing through the air. He sat before the immutable power of the sea and imagined all the things the water touched. And when he imagined its depths his mind became dizzy and he felt as though he were breathing the water. And down deep was an exotic life one only knew if they paid homage to the waters. And a home, there was a home there. And he fell into a state of infinite quiet and longing and felt as if he was on that rock for a thousand years until his pal Jim yelled, "get down here so we can play some football!" He was a good football player. Go to the Story Archive Go to the Old Story Archive |