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Jan Meyers Proett

Mining Stories, Crafting Words, Loving Living Things

Jan's Blog

Blog

I Swear I Heard the Beaver Laugh

Posted on July 29, 2012 at 3:16 PM
 
The Beaver
 
The backlit river was kind, as she can be, so
I strategically found my seat on cool, curved granite to make room for
her to swallow up the sullen shadow which
had encroached into my exuberance– when? - lately. Subtle days or decades, I wasn’t sure.
 
When had I become that woman on the trail stepping aside
for an entourage of youth, faces ripe with the sap of sexuality, smiling as a recollection of my luster gave way to the
mocking creak in
my knee?  
 
Wait.  When am I the one to say wait.
 
It’s too fast, I said, aware that even alpine chill did not penetrate
mottled skin as my hand traced
the frigid water.  I felt a foreign sorrow,
panic born of gravity. Then!
 
Peripheral vision is a keen pairing of words, isn’t it?  Both happened. 
His molasses and chestnut fur – is it fur? – glistened as he showed up to help -
intent,
   seductive,
       knowing.
 
His waddle over river stone
rolled under the shadow of the bridge as he disappeared into what I knew
was the water dark.  Gone, I suspected. 
Not enough
time.
 
Come!  A deafening command allowed no choice but to rise from the
tomb, to exit the monument to my shimmering past.  Familiar voices, my cloud, these witnesses, said we are so sorry, keep going. Go!
 
Scrambling, frantic, I exhaled relief at the sight of him.  His wake in the glass water so slight, I swear I heard him laugh.  He beckoned with buck-toothed humor, pulled me, light-footed in a timeless quest over old-growth wood scattered with red berry bushes, in a serpentine trail along the lake edge until the forest quiet
was pierced with the inextinguishable squeal of a curly blond, pig-tailed, freckled girl. 
 
 
 
 
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Categories: Her Shalom

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1 Comment

Reply Sandy Flewelling
10:39 PM on July 29, 2012 
I love this, Jan. So beautiful.