OUT BACK

There aren’t a thousand people within

a hundred square miles of my place

on the Llano Estacado. I’m fairly good

at living alone, but there aren’t a lot of

cutie pies in the big empty, no matter

how good your dance, how flashy

your smile or even if you can make

rainbows with your words. But in my old age,

there you were, in the middle of nowhere.

Our cottage was built before the Great Depression

drove past this front door on the Mother Road.

It is quiet here, and dry, almost treeless and forests

exist only in our memories of Tennessee and

Missouri. I miss those noisy creeks running

 down the hills, not to mention the flash

of birds everywhere in a discordant symphony.

Under a green canopy, there is something

about the way light tattoos your very bones

in the humid non-silence that makes the world

fade into nothing for awhile.

The Nuthatches, Bluejays, Chickadees, and

Indigo Buntings are too delicate for day long

winds of sixty miles an hour, and a dearth of

worms. We have to settle for the rare Cardinal

or Robin, though the occasional Roadrunner is

fun to watch as they velocipede their way through

the plague of grasshoppers and lizards. Oh, and

the shoals of starlings, those rats with wings.

At my new home in this alien land,

water never paints the scene, and there is no

moisture in the air. The rings inside that old

Cottonwood are so thin, they’re hard to see.

Out back there is an anomaly of pines

someone planted. They are six or seven

feet around and seventy feet tall now,

giving sweet shade in this Texas furnace.

Yesterday, and for the first time in three years,

twa corbies landed in their top branches

to quoth their caws while hopping from

limb to branch. The dogs strained up,

bounced, and barked their heads off.

I walked all around, but those Nevermores

kept moving in their game of hide and seek.

I never did see them.

Reviews

[FPW]

Such a well painted picture of the new home where you reside. It certainly sounds desolate and reminiscent of outback areas of Australia where I live. We, as people, can be extremely adaptable and find our home in places that may, at first, seem inhospitable but they grow on us and we grow into them. I enjoyed the portrait you painted here with your words, Vol.

[Vol]

Thank you, Felicia,
I have often said, "The image is the message."
We here also have spiders and snakes to worry about, but nothing like you... oh. and occasional fires that could take out what's left of our little ghost town.
Vol

[Ken Simm.]

I am reminded of Audobon and Thoreau. In fact of all the great American nature writers. This is a real tour de force. Thank you Vol fo writng such beautiful words.

[Vol]

Wow!
Thank you, Ken, high praise indeed! I am speechless!
Vol

[Thomas W Case]

Very well crafted. The imagery is superb.

[emmajoygreen]

Tis said that everywhere has its own beauty if you accept it as it is... rather like a human being! You have re-created a precious world - albeit not to everyone's taste, by seeing and writing about the accepted examples of beauty, light, reflection, the natural life that does exist in such an extreme area. Somehow via your finely put words you have made your world the one in which one should learn to live,

'Out back there is an anomaly of pines
someone planted. They are six or seven
feet around and seventy feet tall now,
giving sweet shade in this Texas furnace.

Yesterday, and for the first time in three years,
twa corbies landed in their top branches
to quoth their caws while hopping from
limb to branch.'

There is beauty in everything if you have beauty in your spirit.

[Vol]

Emmajoy,
From what I have read of your oeuvre, you must live in Lothlorien.
Ever since I began coming here a quarter century ago, I have tried to put my finger on the difference between the internal reaction I have to shades of brown rolling in a flat plane all the way to the curve of the horizon, and the wrinkled hills of my world in the east where there might be a thousand shades of green in every direction and the sky thirty degrees above level. There is something about those jewel tones of green below and blue above that spark a degree of peace and safety, and beauty that soothe the soul. The ochers, browns, and reds peppered with small black dots of juniper leave no place to hide or escape the yellow sun and seem more mysterious and even threatening. Funny, you’d think you’d be able to see an approaching threat hours before it could get to you, so what’s to worry? I look out there and try to imagine herds of Bison by the million and Comanches eking out a means of survival. A few months ago, my son found a perfect stone arrowhead laying right on top of the ground thirty feed from my back door. There is beauty, but I think it has to be projected from inside the observer and onto the mystery of this waterless place.
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

Firstly, please: 'A few months ago, my son found a perfect stone arrowhead laying right on top of the ground thirty feed from my back door'. Living in the county which birthed Mary Anning, one of the most famous female paleontologists, I can imagine the thrill your son had to find a stone arrowhead so near to your home!! Imagine what else might be scattered further afield under that land.. which does not mean to nudge you into digging fir anything! It's the magic of knowing that such an arid area holds such ancient magic and a more than possible key to your area's past.
What a thought, what a gift. (Excuse my blather but.. )
Apart from that an vitally, what a fantastic description you've added about the colours and spread of your terrain.. it reads like somewhere in its own outer space,

' There is something about those jewel tones of green below and blue above that spark a degree of peace and safety, and beauty that soothe the soul. The ochers, browns, and reds peppered with small black dots of juniper leave no place to hide or escape the yellow sun and seem more mysterious and even threatening... I look out there and try to imagine herds of Bison by the million and Comanches eking out a means of survival. Such visual writing, sir. Imagination soars... !

[Vol]

Emma,
Oh, my! Any "blather" from you is gold.
Where I live was the home of the Comanche Indians, a fierce people indeed and there were many of them. All the indigenous peoples of this hemisphere are the best example of what happens when a technologically superior people come into contact with one more primitive. It is the duality of our culture that is so hard to understand, namely we the "civilized" Western world have committed nothing short of genocide on every backward culture we have met. What exactly does it mean to be "civilized?" after all? It something it think about all the time.
Vol

[John the Baptist]

Well, Vol, I hope you are not in charge of writing tourist brochures for the Gouge Eye Chamber of Commerce. I suppose desert living does have its own appeal, but I think I would be wary of the circling buzzards.

[Vol]

They are out there... In the evenings they roost on the water tower... make about six parking spaces rather iffy...

[Ookpik]

Hey Vol,

This was really outstanding! I read it yesterday but had too many that I wanted to review to be able to sit down and start leaving my thoughts on them.

The quality of work on this site feels like its really elevated lately, and this one in particular is an excellent example of that: your descriptive language is stunning (velocipede!) and the perspective feels decidedly yours - individualistic, and such a pleasure for the reader to occupy. There's humor in it, levity, and it really transports me into your setting (it's snowing hard outside my office window, clouds of it, and yet I can almost feel the sun on my skin, open ground and the solace that a copse of trees can offer).

Your allusions too, and your ending, are perfect and they're really delicately put to use here.

Really enjoyed reading, and if there are any omens in the trees that're worrying you, I'd say it's a keen eye for detail that writes to this quality and it's a keen eye that'll see them coming.

All the best Vol, many thanks for sharing

-Ook

[Vol]

Ook,
Wow, what a fine review! Thank you so much! I have long said, "The image IS the message." And honestly, I have a hard time relating to poems that are merely didactic or rely on linguistic conceits. No matter the subject or theme, poetry must open the eye to see, the ear to hear, and the meaning must have universal appeal, or it is just verse. Words have been my favorite toys since I first learned to talk. They are the things we think with... (I've always felt numbers are of the devil).
Vol

[Ookpik]

Haha! I've felt the same about numbers for a long time, though, much like didacticism (first came across that term through Austen) and the use of extended conceit, numbers are but another tool in the belt - they each have their strengths, and we all have our preferences - and in that, as writers, we each have the freedom to choose which best suits our needs (or fancy!)

I love image, personally, as much as I do symbolism, or rhyme, and yet I've seen didactic writing applied to perfect effect (lands best to those audiences that need most the lesson) or extended metaphors woven in a manner that I couldn't touch if I tried. : )

It is the beauty of a community like this - so long as we can table our differences, we can provide ourselves the opportunity in a mutual love.

Words, you know? Language, expression. The love tends to be mutual here, at bottom, and I think that's a beautiful thing

Again, it was an absolute pleasure to read and really nice to hear from you

-Ook

[Arundass TP]

Llano Estacado. I’m fairly good

at living alone, I love these lines. Because I am happy to be alone

[Stu. T.H.]

Even if the new is unable to replace the old, we would still have left the memories.
Still, I hope it is growing into you, author Vol, and in due time maybe you will fall in love with it again if it allows you to.
Thank you for sharing your work, and I wish you a nice day.

[Vol]

Stu,
I still go back to the lush, humid east long enough for my sinuses to clog up again. I Love it out here on the Llano Estacado.
Vol