the lamps shook in their shades as dancers stomped their heavy feet in time with the truthful tune. the drums matching heartbeats and heartbeats matching drums. they all stomped in time and sang the lyrics loud and open. desperate to be heard and understood. they climbed up on chairs. men put their hands out to steady women as they ascended towards the table tops. the song escalates. they sweat a powerful sweat, valuable for its intent and purpose. a victorious night, this one. the passion ran from taps and strings, horns, drums and feet on tables and hearts on fire.
Monday, August 12, 2013
messiah, the female Arabian camel, mewed at the pink morning sun with discontent. she lent down for a mouth full of dewy hay. the air would dry quickly this morning. she would be made to pass across more dunes. her back clad with trinkets of gold, leather and paper.
the merchant with her was short. too short to reach her back unless she knelt for him to climb on. messiah, the female Arabian camel, was wise enough never to kneel if the short merchant was near by. so at least she could walk slowly without added weight across the desert.
the blueberry bushes were arranged in long rows up and down the hill protected by chicken-wire fence and blocky posts planted every 60 feet. each one measured out by the steps of the farm hand who limps the least just a few years back. a few posts lilting now, after the barrages of rain and the consequential mudslides. at least none of the turkeys got bogged down by the mud.
they are happily unburying the fallen berries form under the new mud. you can hear the females purring from just outside the barn house at the bottom of the hill.