Thursday, July 21, 2011

Talking Out Loud


Sometimes, despite all the people that live close by, there's no one to talk to. No one to tell how the pigs were tearing around in the heat this evening, roughhousing with an old tarp left in their pen. How when I emptied my compost bucket into their trough two came running but the third continued to shake that tarp like a dog with a rag, twisting his head and snorting, sending waves of tarp over his head until he stopped short, unable to see. How with a grunt he shook the thing off at the same time that he tripped on it, sending pig and tarp careening into the trough, upending corn cobs and watermelon rind and pieces of squash which tumbled back down on pig backs like manna, like rain.

Or how the sun set in a welter of orange streaks just as a spoon bowl piece of the moon rose in the opposite direction, just as orange, and the birds hushed down in the heat; how the dark just sort of settled down like a muffling blanket over the silent grasses.

There was no one to listen with me to the breeze that blew high in the trees, setting the leaves rustling like mouse feet in old walls, while not a trace of moving air came anywhere near the ground. No one else heard the snuffling of the possum as it made its way over the little ridge behind my screen tent or tried to figure out whose name the owl was calling deep in the woods.

There was no one to watch the robin disappear into the winterberry bush or remark to about the heat dome hovering almost visibly overhead or the unusual silence of the songbirds. So, I'm telling you.


12 comments:

Hilary said...

And I'm so glad that you did. I saw it all through your beautiful words. Thank you.

Brian Miller said...

thanks for giving me a little beauty to go to bed on...smiles.

steven said...

pauline - a beauty-filled post underscored by the beauty of your generosity in sharing it all with us. steven

Marion said...

Pauline, your writing is so remarkable in that you have such a way of putting words together that draws me in completely. Even though there is no heat here...in fact, this morning it is about 38F in my region...I felt and remembered (heh) what heat felt like through your post. In particular, I often notice how birdsong is much less in the heat, as well. You've brought me that strange silence when engulfed by really hot weather...xx

Reya Mellicker said...

A welter of orange streaks? Oh yeah. I'm so glad you tell us these things, Pauline, so very glad.

So - pigs are funny? Who knew??

Out on the prairie said...

So nice of you to share, I could see it all.

Judith said...

There's us, all right.
And aren't we lucky --
and the poetry!
Gorgeous!
(Yes, I know you camouflaged it as prose)

Molly said...

Sorry you were lonely....It seems to me that beauty, serenity, comedy [the pigs!]and all the little pieces that make up our day, are twice as good when we have someone to share them with. Even heartbreak is easier to bear when someone who cares is nearby.....Glad you thought of us!

Pauline said...

Hilary - it's good to have blog buddies!

Brain - those pigs gave me a smile, too

thanks, Steven. Writing is such a good way to share

Marion - your comments always make me sit up straighter :)

Reya - words are such fun :)

OOTP - thanks for coming by to read :)

J - then I shall read it as poetry at the next open mic

Molly - I was not lonely. I just had no one to share the experience out loud with. I agree that such things are better when shared which is why I told all of you about it :) Heartbreak is definitely eased when there's someone to listen to first the cracking and then the healing over...

Barbara Shallue said...

I saw and felt it all - I'm willing to listen any time!

herhimnbryn said...

Thankyou for telling me! I laughed out loud at the pigs.

Peter Bryenton said...

Spoon bowl piece: very fine.