Saturday, July 2, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #23



Hawk Season Notebook # 23

You break sleep, win a pain-free turn on the bed, no spinal chaos. The hot-whirl of July begins today. Half-memory from a dream: a Texas honky tonk's maple bar... with a line of red plastic go-cups foamy with beer. A skinny big-hair blonde in a suede skirt and unbuttoned yellow-orange silk blouse, no bra... one breast out on its lonesome... a bullet-noggin' nipple. Sorrow-ballad from a scratch-static radio. Near the door there's a rotating wire tower for West Texas landscape postcards, a glass-top display case for Old West badges. You hear diesel-rumble from outside... long-haul rigs. The blonde is assembling a cedar doghouse. Wood shavings... gold wood shavings slow-fall to a sawdust floor like summer holiday sparkles. You have broken sleep. You stand at a bedroom window: an idle center pivot a hundred yards south in your neighbor's pasture, a few high summer clouds, and further south --twenty miles away-- industrial smoke from a town's on-fire silicone plant. Your bedroom is quiet.  You know men with sons named Stetson and Nocona... know women who name daughters Sage and Reata. You feel balance... or the resemblance of balance.

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