Promethean Logophile - Western

One Path

Lori Barber — Fri, 28 Oct 2005 13:14:39 -0700

Broken Song didn’t have to guide his pinto, Mud Patch through the twists and turns up the narrow trail to the top of the ridge. Mud Patch knew the way to their favorite spot well. Into the final bend Broken Song stretched his bronze, tall, lean frame across his horse’s bareback to steal a quick glimpse at the rugged mountains wrapped around the flat valley below. They had made it in time for the sunrise. A gentle breeze played against the eagle feathers in his black braided hair and the beaded collar around his neck.

Sooner

MCW 41 — Mon, 31 Jan 2005 11:38:53 -0800

Gladys Wilson rose long before the sun lumbered into the sky. She always moved quickly, in short deliberate movements. The damp cold of the morning increased her usual alacrity. Pulling her wool shawl tightly around her thin body she began this momentous day by gathering a small pile of firewood, lighting it and setting the iron kettle at the apex. She picked through the barrel containing food supplies, pulling out enough corn meal to prepare simple corn cakes as sustinance for the day

A Mark In Time

Lori Barber — Thu, 20 Jan 2005 18:45:45 -0800

The obdurate men formed a stiff line, making it clear that the women had no say. The wagons would go on as decided at last nights vote. Those who had lost a loved one to the sudden mysterious illness best make a hasty goodbye.

The leader, chosen by a vote of hands by the men a few weeks back, took a step forward. He uncrossed his arms sending a puff of dust into the air before it settled around his worn boots. The simple act of removing his filthy hat and drawing it to his heart in a tender ceremony stirred the grieving widows to listen. His broad shoulders dropped to his elbows and he held his eyes to the ground as if taking responsibility for the loss of six fine men and one woman. The toe of his leather boot pushed at a pebble, never realizing his large dirt-encrusted hand crushed the hold on his hat. “We’ve got to keep moving. Don’t know what brought on this sudden and deadly sickness but we can’t stay here and let it claim any more lives. Beside, we’ve got to reach California or Oregon, which ever place you’ve chosen, before the weather turns. If you need to sort it out further talk it out with God as we make our way west. He’s the only one that’s got the answer to this unfortunate loss.” His usual deep tone had been softened by the swig of whiskey taken in secret moments ago, allowing his final words to wash over the group and imitate a soothing breeze.