La Mancha Revisited

TBP



The Brave Man of La Mancha used a stick with a forked top as he walked, searching for windmills with which to do battle. He had no Sancho Panza but his man, Elizar, was along; tramping behind and that was close, albeit still lamentable. Sancho would have been so much better.

When they set out together he asked Elizar if he might call him Sancho.

“No,” Elizar replied.

They traipsed about the yard for the entire morning and saw nary a windmill to tilt at. Elizar suggested that perhaps he should go inside and get the book. He implied that it might help them with their quest. Reluctantly, The Brave Man of La Mancha agreed and waited in the shade for Elizar to come back. When he returned, after an interminable absence, Elizar was accompanied by peanut butter  and grape jelly sandwiches along with two bottles of Coke that Mother had sent out.

They broke for lunch.

It was then agreed that The Brave Man of La Mancha would continue to lead  the way and his faithful slave, Elizar would read, and could then pass suggestions forward to The Brave Man of La Mancha, who mistakenly believed Elizar had gone inside to fetch The Dangerous Book for Boys; not their sister’s English Composition textbook.

The Brave Man of La Mancha felt that the fun was being sucked right out of the game when Elizar suggested that it was time for a crisis. He was about to turn and pummel Elizar with the walking stick when he spotted a pigeon in the grass, less than ten feet in front of them.

Suddenly and without warning The Brave Man of La Mancha halted , causing his brother to run into his backside. He put his finger to his lips to signal silence and whispered.

“If thou art not versed in the business of adventure then step aside and pray, whilst I engage this beast in mortal combat.” He raised his stick over his head and crept towards the pigeon.


 

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

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I Don’t Need to Watch This

MFtS

Photo courtesy of Barbara W. Beacham at MFtS
Photo courtesy of Barbara W. Beacham at MFtS


I watched the vulture looking at me hungrily as I lay on the ground bleeding and injured. Something wasn’t quite right though. The perspective was off, wrong somehow. I looked up at the bird. I looked down at myself. I couldn’t remember what had happened. Eyes closed tightly, I thought back.

I remembered watching the old man, who called himself Drummer, as he untangled the lines and folded the silk.

I remembered standing on the wheel cover and holding the stay; thumbs up to Daniel as I let myself drop backwards into nothing, the void.

I remembered the sound of falling, a loud WHOOSH slipping past my ears, and then I remembered the ground – the suddenness of the ground.

I remembered what had happened. All of it. And, I kept my eyes closed.

 

The vulture was within his rights.

October Moon



The rumble of engines echoed off the hillsides in the dusk as they arrived one at a time

A shiny new Jeep

A silver SUV

A dusty old Buick Roadmaster

The Subaru and the Bultaco got there together, last to arrive

They each took their places on large stones arranged in a circle and passed a bottle around, watching the moon, not speaking at all

Old friends, unafraid of silence

When it was dark enough, they rose as one; let down their grey hair, and began discarding their clothes

They availed themselves of one last pull on the bottle each before picking their way up to the top of the ridge where they danced in the light of the full Autumn moon

Silently

Each hearing her own music; until after awhile, just like they arrived

One at a time, they would stop

And singly, walk down from the ridge, collecting clothes and deciding to either put them back on, or toss them in the backseat before driving away

Back to their husbands and wives; their children and grandchildren

Back to their houses, their kitchens; and their jobs at the market, the clinic, or the roadhouse

A cloud of dust trailing behind, they each left slowly with

Yellow spears of light leading the way, helping them navigate the path through the desert, and back to the highway.