Once that Loud, Dusty and Fly Attract'n State Fair Poofs Out, Autumn Slips in Real Quiet.
Same every year. Buncha basket cases show up, begin hiss'n in the sky, get'n tangled in power cables, waste'n gas and scar'n the goats dry
Bury the damn power cables so's they be out'a the way of the sky. Out'a the weather so's they don't get blow'd down or burned. Ig'nert be the State, I swear. Least those wind things look like pinwheels, 'stead of dead tree trunk logs crucify'n the air. Wasteful. Ugly.
Haven't been to the big city since that Nixon kid scowl'd across the country. Checker'd past always catches up, I reck'n.
Up there in the city they hold a Balloon Fiesta and all these people come a visit'n. They got's people full of hot air that makes those balloons carry the basket cases, while they grill hotdogs on gas burners. Heard all about it. It be a big ta-doo every year.
Only two things ever flew over my hovel. Flying disc and a plane that crashed over yonder. Man called his plane, Jenny. Funny name for a thing with two wings. Man done broke his leg and twisted his puss up a mite. Daddy set his leg, but not kindly, 'cause his fly'n machine scared the goats.
Must'a been 19 when I saw that disc thing whirl'n around. Hum'n like a hamster wheel it was. Little fella inside was mite interest'd in my hang'n clothes to dry. He seemed af'ble, but I don't like magic things I don't know about, spook'n around.
Heard one of them little guy's went splat near Roswell. Dunno.
Silly those balloons go zoom'n 'round the sky. People try'n to be birds or someth'n. Sky be the breath of the Earth Mother. All them fly'n things stink'n it up. Birds don't. They eat seeds and use the sky breath to spread 'em.
Glad those balloon fools stay in the big city.
Like look'n at the sky. High desert kind. Clear as a tear drop. When I walk now, I look down. When I was young, I look'd up. Be no gold in the golden years. But, I finally made it to my secret rock nook. There I rest and gets the pond ripples in my head to stop. Feel, instead'a think.
From above I can looky down into the canyon and hear whisper'd voices in the wind. Yep, October be a quiet month. I see Hekuba mark'n out her pentagram thingy in the sand when call'n the desert spirits. Don't know what she's ask'n 'em now. Don't matter. Just a hoot watch'n her.
Hekuba got her wand a whiz'n this way 'n that. Moves like her toes are do'n the walk'n. Always creeps my goose pimply's when she does that walk'n thing. She charms with her humor, she does. Make no mistake tho. Inside, she has a speck'a black float'n free.
Oh, well. Hekuba collects desert spirit friends like I collect star drop'ns.
Derek and his young son be below and to the right on the lower bluff overlook'n the canyon. I can hear them plain. Talk'n to his son about what he knows and believes.
I should leave. Can't. Somethin' beautiful happen'n a'tween 'em.
Derek spoke soft, but clear. Each sentence was follow'd by long silence. "Son, you be get'n older. Start'n to bulk up. Guess ya know I be real proud of ya. Enjoy be'n your dad ya know."
I knew his eyes were deep into his son's, even tho I be a fair piece away.
To my left be Faylyn. I can hear her hidden sobs. That girl spent a lifetime throw'n pots. Lost her get'n old money when the banker screwed her bad. Villagers will be sure Faylyn has plenty to eat, warm clothes and her hovel kept up right. We don't believe in throw'n people away like Republicans do.
Lots of poverty here now. Wasn't too bad a'fore, but now things be bleak. Like a storm continuous like.
Heard about a revolution brew'n to make our country better and fairer to everyone.
I likes that Idea.
Time to wrap up in my cibola hide and let ol' Milky Way wash over me and dream the new Idea.