The world, as they say, is turning … turning … turning … Are you turning with it?
She loved this time of year … tree frogs and crickets singing the end of growing time; early mornings, misty and cool.
"Come on, fella," she smiled to the dog at her side, as they walked along the country road, smelling the corn silk, the last of the wild flowers, the fertile earth.
With the stray feather of a fluttering dove clinging to a thistle, and a ring-neck pheasant calling in the cropped alfalfa fields nearby, she thought, "So much like myself … so much like my life right now."
The world, as they say, is turning … turning … turning … Are you turning with it?
She loved this time of year … tree frogs and crickets singing the end of growing time; early mornings, misty and cool. "Come on, fella," she smiled to the dog at her side, as they walked along the country road, smelling the corn silk, the last of the wild flowers, the fertile earth.
With the stray feather of a fluttering dove clinging to a thistle, and a ring-neck pheasant calling in the cropped alfalfa fields nearby, she thought, "So much like myself … so much like my life right now."
She was a city girl. Though she had been raised in the country, it was the excitement and opportunity of New York that called her. And she had run for it – run straight for it like a dog after a rabbit; a cat after a butterfly.
New York hadn't treated her very well. Yes, she had made her way with odd jobs and good friends. But, no matter how much she earned, no matter who she met or what fascinating stories they told, something ... something ... called her.
It could be the flick of a squirrel's tail ... the flutter of a sparrow ... the coo of a pigeon. As she walked on grey cement, among grey buildings and glass reflecting the outside of everything and nothing of what lies beneath, it could be the color of a leaf falling to the street. It could be the petals of a sad flower, bundled for sale on a cart as someone called out "Pretties for your love?"
"Pretties for your love" …. she thought. What an unusual thing to say in a land of concrete hearts and unforgiving glass. So far from home, she thought; so far from herself.
She learned a lot about life in the city. She learned a lot about people. By now, she could tell who was bold and brassy, who was weak and timid ... who was a success and who was just another wannabe. She could tell these things without even saying hello. She could tell, just by watching people – which was something she did a lot of these days. People in subways, people shopping, people waiting for ... waiting for what? Pretties for your love?
She tried love. Or, so she thought. She went to places where she could her people her age, she struck up friendships at work, she flirted. She went to nightclubs and laughed and smiled. Sometimes, she even danced the night away. Love? Why didn't she feel it? Where was it hiding?
Her feet hurt from walking on cement, day after day. Passing by the park, she noticed the birds landing for peanut shells and pieces of bread tossed by strangers. Birds had it figured out, she decided. They only walk on cement half the time. The rest, they were dancing on air. What did it feel like to fly? Did her heart remember how to jump in the air and smile?
It might have gone on like this forever. Year after year; working wondering ... and then, the call came. "Your father has had an accident. We need you." She didn't have to go. She could have put it off on someone else – a sister, a brother. She could have said she was too busy, or she couldn't get off from work, or she couldn't afford the plane ticket. She could have made a hundred excuses to avoid going home ... but, didn't. Was it curiosity?
Green ... green ... so lime-bright it almost hurt the eyes hiding behind her shades. Blue ... the sky so blue it dwarfed her. People ... where were all the people? How could anyone make a living around here?
Family picked her up at the airport. Taking in their dresses, shirts and shoes, she would have to tell them about style, she decided. She could send them some magazines. What were they smiling about? Didn't they know how foolish they looked to anyone with any fashion sense?
Hospital ... doctors ... nurses ... machines ... reassurance ... fears... prayers ...
Country roads, dirt lane, pot holes ... broken down fences ... scrubby trees, the house where she grew up.
And, there he was, waiting patiently; eyes trusting, heart as warm and true as ever ... the dog. The dog she grew up with, old and shaggy now. Waiting as if he would have waited forever.
Slugging her bags upstairs, looking around her old room, she wondered how her family had done it. How had they managed to hold on to the place all this time? The dog watched her, and came to her side. "What is it fella? Wanna go for a walk?" They walked along the lane, beside the corn field.
The world was changing, she thought. Governments were at war; gasoline was expensive, winter would be rough. The father who was invincible was fighting for his life now. It was all too much to bear. She and the dog were from a time long ago. A time almost forgotten. Taking off her shoes, she felt the dirt between her toes and smelled the corn stalks.
Like a guardian spirit, the dog trotted with her, never far from her side. What was she thinking? What was she feeling when she sighed; when she stopped to pluck a milkweed pod and scatter its seeds in the breeze? Only she could know for sure; but he could wonder.
Day after day, it went like this. Visits to the hospital of fear and mortality, then long, country walks. Finally, after many days of wandering, she stopped. She stopped because she realized that, on these walks, she had been peaceful. Instead of blaring police sirens, she had heard Blue Herons in the distance, and wild geese. Instead of
angry and vulgar profanity, she had heard delicate chipmunks. Instead of fleeting acquaintances, she had known the steady companionship of the dog.
At that moment, she lifted her face to the sky. The world was bigger than she remembered. Life was greater, and a heart was a mystery with many secret chambers. She could open those chambers. Going back in time, she could unlock golden, glistening memories ... and she could feel them again! If she wanted to.
Into the air went her laughter! Twirling into the clouds went her shoes and her pain as she spun around in circles and danced! She wouldn't worry any more about falling off the merry-go-round in a world of wars and uncertainty spinning out of control. As long as there were tree frogs, singing crickets and early mornings, misty and cool; as long as there were roads leading us out of the past and into the mystery ahead, she would take the next turn, and the next, and the next after that. If all was lost, she would start again. Just like everything around her did, year after year, with nobody looking.
With the stray feather of a fluttering dove clinging to a thistle, and a ring-neck pheasant calling in the cropped alfalfa fields nearby, she thought, "So much like myself …"
"Come on, fella," she smiled to the dog at her side, as they walked the path together, smelling the corn silk, the last of the wild flowers, the fertile earth. She wouldn't worry about love any more– true love would wait; new love would find her ....
And the wise, old dog looked
Author/Artist RON HEVENER specializes in animals and the romantic, adventurous people who love them. An accomplished artist who started by selling handmade souvenirs and telling stories to tourists at Pennsylvania Dutch farmers’ markets, Mr. Hevener’s studio is now an official tourist attraction and his collectible figurines and the prints from his novels are bought and traded throughout the world. His original paintings and sculptures are sold in galleries, displayed in museums and can be found in many private collections.
