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K. A. M'Lady |
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driving the dog I saw winter in the eye of spring's failing, grew mesmerized by the dust now swarming an eight a.m. sun, gathered mittens and scarf to extremities, filled my lungs with the arctic chill that still remained like an old boyfriend's shirt, hanging forever in winter's closet and anxiously waited for the robins to start their red-breasted show. I watched a blue van on a side street named Juniper; the buses run, the work traffic flowing like broken ice chunks on yesterday's frozen river, held coffee and cigarette, steering wheel and orange flavored gloss, waited with the patience of a four year-old for my turn at the stop, the sun to shine, this semi-blizzard to end, and finally stared transfixed, collie passing at passenger window, window at three quarter mast, snout to the wind, scenting the air. his tongue lolled, spittle in the breeze, and I wondered if dogs could taste the first rush of a season. this side of the rainbow in the late afternoon he would wind up the clock before retiring to his favorite green chair; the arms worn from touching, his head held with care. it was summer in the mid-west, the tiny window air conditioner cranking out coolness in fickle drops, the carpet rough as pebbled cement, but nobody cared - it was too hot to move. I'd climb into the nook of his shoulder; a pillow made by angels with the steady firmness one would expect of God's hands, I'd listen to his shallow breathing and know a peace one wouldn't expect this side of any rainbow. before dusk settled we'd climb aboard the iron see-saw; Tuscan Brown; New Mexico Sunset, and we'd spin and bounce like jumping beans held to long in a fresh-packed tin can. grandpa would be in the garage; his last vestige from unruly grandchildren, dinner preparations, and talk only mothers and daughters can comprehend. he'd be out there every day tinkering, the empty gray warehouse outback a reminder of things that had passed before, the town losing jobs and neighborhood crime rise like mercury, but he'd be out there daily, grinding some tool, sorting some screw, teaching us a regard for simplicity, that someday we'd finally understand. |