Tag Archives: dreams

Universes Here On Earth

My family wasn’t wealthy, but we weren’t eating water soup* every night either. If I could put it into a neat, little box (Americans love that) I would say we were upper-proletariat or lower-middle class. We did OK, I suppose, if only because we did what we had to do and bought off-brand food. I think a lot of my current-day disdain for branding comes from this. I’m very brand loyal IF they’ve proven their worth. For example, I buy from Honda motors because they have treated me right for 15 years.

There’s a reason for all of this wind up, because I will say we (that is my sister, a few neighborhood kids, and myself) would be allowed to play with the garden hose for a couple of hours in the sweltering heat of Summer. What most people do these days is just go to a water park. Entertainment expenditures were just not in the budget at that time. I also think that’s the reason I am compulsively working. I painted a large section of Stonefield’s siding today, because Labor Day feels weird. Isn’t that a laugh riot?

During the moments when we had the hose, I remember wetting down a section of the patio and staring at it close up. I know it sounds a bit dim, but there were universes in the concrete. Please let me explain. As most are aware, concrete contains aggregate (crushed stone, sand, etc.) to act as filler and give the concrete structure. Well, as it turns out, it also sparkles when wet. It looked like the night sky, when I cupped my hands and only let a beam of light through. Some boys were busy burning ants with magnifying glasses. I was busy staring at wet concrete.

So, when it seemed like I was only laying flat on a patio looking stupid, I was really viewing all of the different colors in the cement. All sorts of colors, and all of them twinkling… like the universe. All of the colors planets, with histories, and civilizations. You see, I also used to stare at the night sky, because I really wanted to run away. Not just from my parents or city, but this entire world. I wanted to find a better place for me among the stars, and would fantasize about space travel. Hence some of my stories are science fiction. It’s a holdover from my childhood.

I’m not exactly sure why I wrote this post, but I do know it was something I recalled this afternoon with little provocation. It was like a moving a photo album and having a forgotten picture fall out. This gave me pause, not because I believe “things happen for a reason,” rather I surprised myself with how much I’ve forgotten. It’s almost like I have intentionally done so.

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* – A can of water soup is the Depression-era Homestarrunner’s form of entertainment, only to underscore the sheer poverty of people in a “first-world” nation. It’s a parody of early cartoon making where outhouses and family’s sleeping all in one bed were still common practice. It was only about 80 years ago, people. That’s still within a person’s lifetime.

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A Letter

To Whom I Miss Most Dearly,

I don’t believe we’ve met, but I am your love. Whether by fate or chance, we do not recognize each other in this sea of people. We may have said “hello” in passing, but our minds were cloudy. We may be leagues apart, but carry nagging feelings our presence. We may be chronologically out of place, but know that death will help us in the end.

I wonder if you’re happy. Had you given up on me? By the time you read this, it may very well be so. I could never hold resentment against you. After all, love is disarming, and harming you would be the furthest from my mind. However, know this: I haven’t stopped believing in you. To cease in dreaming would be a tragic loss to both of us.

I imagine you on a beach. Your hair is left to the breeze’s mercy and you’re feeling the change in the sand between waves. The birds strike fondness in your mind and awe dwells in your very being. Your eyes brighten as I approach. You want to tell me of your discoveries of life and location. You know I will always cherish what you say to me, because I know it’s always important.

How would you imagine me? Would I be what you thought? Do you think I’m even real? It does pain me to think of our predicament. If I could bribe an official, take up a goose chase, or gamble with gods, I would do so in a heartbeat just to find you.

For now, take care, be well, and most of all be happy. Do not worry, as someday we will find each other in one form or another. I won’t stop thinking of you and the possibilities that may come.

Most of all, I love you… now and forever.

Yours Always,

Beloved

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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Southern Gentry

Gentle breezes rocked the willow on the southern side of the pond. It was Sunday evening, and so far, a mild night on the plantation. Spanish moss made a quiet life on the branches of the magnolia tree next to Katherine. She stood for a good five minutes examining the intimate details of the tree, how it grew up, and what it became. There were so many different stories being told on that large plot of land, yet none of them were uniquely identifiable to her at the moment. A whip-poor-will nearby was the only thing she could hear.

Kate was full of romantic ideas ever since she was little. The mansion appealed to her girlish fantasies in the best of ways, and she dreamed of her new life in it. Her slight frame wouldn’t allow for anything too adventurous, but the mind found it fit to climb trees and otherwise make up stories that didn’t exist. For example, the magnolia became a heroic figure in her mind, saving as much moss as it could from a watery grave.

A swan paddled past the small footbridge made for garden excursions. It reminded her of Monet, and thankfully, not Kincade. It would lose the refined dignity she cultivated for her imaginary Southern gentry otherwise. These people were to have taste and an eye for aesthetic living.

“It’s a shame this old place was neglected for so long,” she thought. “With a little work though, it could be as glamorous as it once was.” Kate was enamored with antiquated, Southern high society. The pomp and circumstance were enough to set her fantasies in motion for hours. Her parents merely thought it was from watching Gone with the Wind too many times. What surprises were in store for them, when she got the courage to tell them she had bought a plantation and set the wheels in motion for renovations.

She fancied her wedding here. There would be the reception hall and the ballroom. Finally, to think of a formal occasion worth remembering! Her family, while well meaning, was never much for “living” as she put it. They either lacked the will, the imagination, or both on social events. No one was much for seeing anyone else, let alone talking to them. How it would be so different, now that she was grown and in control! “Longing hearts could only stand so much longing,” she was reciting Margaret Mitchell again (as she did frequently) and dreamed of slowly nurturing the socialite within her back to health. She wanted to be a belle in the worst way.

It was all coming together. The daydream lasted forever, and she let herself wander off the path into an area she hadn’t seen before. It was still a recent purchase, and there was much to explore. It would take her months to fully navigate the entire plot.

The dale wasn’t very big, only visible when looking straight at it. There was no doubt it was from human intervention though. Heavy rain made the red clay melt and shift like toothpaste left in a sink basin. Care was needed to enter the opening of the area, but a nearby oak tree made for a superior hand rest. It was more a matter of preoccupation that led to what happened next.

Kate tripped over a small rock, and she wasn’t terribly surprised at her absentmindedness. The night had provided its typical tint on the land, but the moon was as full as it could be. Plenty of light was available to navigate through the clearing. With as much dignity as she could muster, as practice made perfect, she slowly collected herself from her tumble. This obstruction would just not do! What would the doctors and debutantes think of such a poorly kept patio?

Next to her feet laid a dingy, white stone slightly higher than the ground. It looked more like a paver than anything else. “Ugh! This will all have to be repaved. What material did they use on this anyway?” Her right foot moved the stone out of its resting place, and she examined it more closely. There was writing on it.

Squinting, she made out “Eli.” She picked up another one: “Esther.” “Oh great, they had a pet cemetery,” she said with more than a bit of disappointment. What a morbid thought, having to dispose of the remains of animals long since dead. Kate supposed it was the price she had to pay for such a piece of American history. On such a note, she started on her way back to the garden path only to be stopped by another sight. An object lay close to another “paver.” At first, it looked like a gnarled branch, but was too short and intact to be such. Kate picked it up to view it in the moonlight; it was a femur, a human one. Kate soon came to realize the real price paid to be Southern gentry.

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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