Friday, March 18, 2011

The Eye of the Monster

One spring evening I was walking a meandering path through a vast garden like field of deep green grass and bright yellow flowers when I decided to wander off the path in favor of gently blowing grass and taller stems of flowers swaying above the sea of grass. Thus experiencing closeness with butterflies, pollinating bees, plant life and all the other insects in my surroundings. Air, Sun and Moon make the world bloom. My heart and life is rooted wherever I travel.
An orange sun was setting forth long shadows over the mountains in the west when I suddenly stumbled and fell over what I thought was a rock. Maybe I should have mentioned how I also liked rocks too. As I fell and rolled over, the rock rose from the ground and suddenly towered over my prone figure, a rock laying in wait!
As I turned my gaze up to the rock, I saw, in order, large brown boots, green socks, red jeans rolled above the ankles, a thick brown belt with a rather nice gold belt buckle; then came a bulge that exposed a red jacket and a gray vest over a yellow shirt. My neck began to hurt as I strained to see more; I saw more than I wanted. I got past a wide shirt collar to see a face staring in my direction with a wide brimmed brown hat that was threatening to fall off a large head. The towering colorful rock stared at me through a big monocle and a large, veined, sea-blue eye holding my gaze. The other eye wore a black patch that said ‘Hello there chap you have disturbed my nap". I now knew I was looking at an unhinged monster and at the moment a curious monster. I however was not as curious as he.
Along about this time I seemed to forget the wonderful life I was enjoying a few seconds before.
The non-threatening quizzical cock of the head is the only thing that kept me from fleeing, that and the fact that the monster had pinned me to the ground with his massive diamond willow walking stick. With some relief, to me, the monster smiled, if one can call the corners of thick gray lips slowly expanding in an upward fashion exposing brightly polished yellow and if I may add, sharp teeth.
My agitation increased when the creature pulled a big sharp looking stick from its gray vest pocket. I am now thinking that I will be permanently pinned to the ground like a beetle in a natural history museum. Then the smile became even broader and the monster began moving a large pink tongue back and forth to gain access with the pick to dislodge large chunks of meat from hidden molars at the back of his mouth, a mouth with a stench that wilted the lush flowers around my prone body. At about this time the light began to fade or was I passing out, this I figured might be a problem either way. I definitely did not want to deal with a monster after sunset. I then began to feel as if a spell, like I knew what a spell was, was being cast over me.
The scene before and around me was fading into swirling disconnected visions of setting suns, grass, yellow flowers and a large round face projecting a humorous look.
Finally after a troubled night, dawn light came streaming through a bedroom window along with a rising sun, triggering my internal clock, to say 'wake up sleepy head'. I awoke to a new day and slipped from my bed. I stretched my muscles. Tidied up the bed. Folded up the flowered yellow and green comforter and placed it on the dresser. I pulled on blue denim jeans with a nicely rolled cuff. A bright green, long sleeved shirt and a favorite vest then wandered into the kitchen to fire up the wood stove for some strong coffee. The day was off to a great start with the smell of coffee mingling with the fragrance of spring flowers. I sat at a white enameled table with red trim, sipping at my hot coffee; a warmth that was keeping the cool but pleasant morning breeze coming in through the kitchen windows fluttering the drapes. A window that, between fluttering curtains, exposed a world that I knew well, having grown up here. As I held the warmth of the cup, I pondered the day's tasks. Being retired and in good health, I spend a goodly time at this mental task, no point in rushing life.
The coffee was good and my thoughts flowed.
I decided a stroll in the garden was in order to check on what really needs doing. My favorite red spring jacket and brown hat were hanging on large wooden pegs by the back door where I hung them yesterday morning after a stroll. Grabbing the walking stick from its usual place by the fireplace where it lived with the umbrella, I stepped through the back door into an expanding view of nature where the pleasantries of coffee were replaced by a wash of unprocessed olfactory reminders of the power of spring.
The natural sounds of the outdoors mingled with the not so light thump-slap-thump of my walking boots and walking stick on old oak, slightly curling planks of the back porch. Pausing at the steps I took in the view of my world, a world I am very fond of.
The April showers must have been good; the flower and vegetable garden looked great even thought I do let it grow a little wild, well more than a little wild as the garden looks more like the expanse of land around my home.
I live a solitary life in the foothills east of a jagged mountain range with high snowy peaks. I have often dreamed and thought about what was on the far side of the mountains but alas I have not the mountaineering skills needed to explore such a region. The life I lead is so solitary that I do not remember the last time I saw another being besides the beasts of the plain and flying creatures patrolling the sky, some of which I hunt and prepare for the mild winters in these parts.
I am happy here and the writing of this memoir helps clear the mind of someone who lives alone albeit in a beautiful land.

This Epilogue is being recorded in a study just off the living room somewhere north of San Francisco.
The story may be true. All I know is that I have recorded the tale as I remember it in the voice of the "person" who experienced it. Could I have been reliving a past life? A dream? Logic informs me that a dream or a past life does not express itself in such detail. Repressed memory? Some say repressed memories are hogwash but still I have the same problem of to much detail. I wrote down the tale years ago when I was in my thirties when it was fresh in my mind. The writing took place soon after I recovered from a rock-climbing fall a fall that resulted in a very severe concussion and a coma that lasted a week or so. I went home after a month to convalesce. Where I pondered my future. The future turned out to be a happy loving marriage despite no children. Then widowhood. Now that I am nearly ninety I am recording a couple of thoughts I have pondered for many years. I will now set this in the past and move on.
I woke up early this morning to record the previous remarks and now that it is finished I have time to have a hot cup of coffee and a walk about the yard and then grab a hat and walking stick and have a quite walk in the grass.

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