Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Bones





The open road beckoned and so we went there. We sang along with Johnny Cash and ate pork rinds washed down with whiskey. Before sunrise, I woke up with my heart pounding. Morning light. Must capture it. The thick, mineral water of Alvord Hot Springs seeped deep into our bones while the ice-cooled wind shifted across our bare skin. We emerged reborn, truly. Our torn fibers healed. Sunshine and salt on our cracked lips. Storm clouds spun out of nowhere, then flew off into the night. When we awoke, there was nothing but ground and sky and brilliant snow-covered peaks. The mule deer stared at us, unblinking, before they bounded away out of the thicket of trees. The coyotes barely looked up while they circled and chewed on the bloody carcass. Did the ranchers feed them? Were they being poisoned? A couple of golden eagles studied the scene from a distance, waiting for the chance to move in. The buffleheads in the pond gave me a warm feeling, as did the fat otter when he broke through the ice. The enormous herds of elk and antelope give me hope for everything that is bigger than ourselves.

Tonight I looked up at the fat, bright full Blue Moon through the brittle branches. Bones. I stood in the park and watched the moon rise above the stiff, dark houses. The air smelled like concrete, wind, and woodsmoke. Back inside, after a big bowl of stew and a bottle of frosty, rich Oregon microbrew, I held a tear-drop shaped chunk of obsidian in my hand. It's been shaped and chipped on by Native Americans. They lived thousands of years ago along the lakeshore that is now a bone-dry desert where we explored by truck and by foot not far from Fields, Oregon near the Nevada Border. It had been carried there a few hundred miles from Glass Butte in Central Oregon by Paiute Indians. I held the volcanic glass, touched by ancient hands, carried in pouches, dropped into the dust. I looked up at the moon. I licked my lips. And I thought of bones. Your bones. Your limbs. Your hips and heels, elbows, spine, and ribs. I thought of how you hold me up, how you are the architecture of my hope. I slid the obsidian into a pickle jar, half-filled with a few square feet of lakebed treasures -- hen's teeth, agates, crystals, blue opal....and screwed on the lid.

And then I filled my bowl again. A simple, hot meal on a cold night. Satisfying, and good.


Paiute Lamb Hater's Stew
From the Trail Boss's Cowboy Cookbook

2 lbs Lamb, cubed
Vegetable oil
Yellow onion
Garlic
Mushroom soup
Sour Cream
White wine

Brown and cook meat until cooked through. Add onion & garlic halfway through. Add soup, wine & sour cream. Simmer about 15 minutes. Serve over noodles or potatoes.

6 comments:

Craig Sorensen said...

Delicious.

Vibrant descriptions and visual images, as always. Those western scenes take me back to earlier days.

Last night was as moon-bright a night as I've seen in months. Crystal clear, powerful enough to cast cool shadows.

The enormous herds of elk and antelope give me hope everything that is bigger than ourselves.

Hear, hear.

Gina Marie said...

Good morning, Craig! The rising moon was amazing last night, and when I woke up it was shining in through the bedroom window. "Powerful enough to cast cool shadows." I love that!

I meant to say "hope for everything that is bigger than ourselves" :-) But yes, hear, hear! It was great to see such huge, healthy herds of the wild things out there.

Thanks for stopping by. I'm glad you had a clear, blue-moon-shadowy night.

Craig Sorensen said...

I read the line the way you meant it; didn't even catch the missing word when I cut and pasted it...

Must be the spirit of that big bright moon.

BadAssKona said...

We were separated at birth....

Kraxpelax said...

SONNET XXXIX FOR KATIE

I went downtown, saw Katie in the nude
on Common Avenue, detracted soltitude
as it were, like a dream-state rosely hued,
like no one else could see her; DAMN! I phewed;

was reciprokelly then, thank heaven, viewed,
bestowed unique hard-on! but NOT eschewed,
contrair-ee-lee, she took a somewhat rude
'n readidy attude of Sex Prelude; it BREWED!

And for a start, i hiccuped "Hi!", imbued
with Moooood! She toodledooed: "How queued
your awe-full specie-ally-tee, Sir Lewd,
to prove (alas!), to have me finely screwed,

and hopef'lly afterwards beloved, wooed,
alive, huh? Don't you even DO it, Duu-uuude!"

My English Poetry Blog

N'est-que pas que la solitude elle-mème eveille quelque attente fébrile? Voici l'entrée, vide, discrètetement illuminée comme une musée nocturne – la terasse, avec ses torchères ondoyantes par un soir d'Avent étrangement doux – laissant le vestibule et les murmures de voix – la chambre immaculée immaculée et la musique de danse derrière le mur – et le bar à cocktails mondains – le bassin où le nageur s'entrâine, longeur après longeur, il en n'a jamais assez, il doit y mettre de sien – enfin, tournant vers le haut au coin du sombre couloir vient la fille noire et pâle, altière, déterminée et de style épuré, ainsi qu'un moderne avion de chasse suédois.

Poétudes

More...

Exit time. Las chicas dejan el espejo de bar
dormindose en sus corazónes de alta traícion.
El Señor no levanta. Él pastorea a sus pies
los presuntos compradores. Y nos bendice.

My spanish poetry blog

More...

Consider Sex and time, procreation, reincarnation. Trigonometry! I envisage the time axis as the repetitive tangens function. Do you see what I mean? What can be tentatively derived from this notion? Clue: orgasm AND birth pangs at tan 0.

My Philosophy

My Music Blog

My Babe Wallpapers

You are very welcome to promote your blog on mine. They are well frequented, so there's mutual benefit.

- Peter Ingestad, Sweden

Gina Marie said...

Gosh, I sure missed you twin ;-)