Wilson on Erie

The sea of grasses stretched out to the real sea, invisible beyond the line of curving trees, but sensed with sound, and smell, and taste.  The grasses mimicked the sea waves without the finishing roar on rocks, crushing them into sand.  A gull cried above the hissing rushes and circled away.  Lena watched him disappear.  She watched the grasses undulate.  She stood as still as one of the grave statues behind her.

Inspiration #2

On the morning of her sixth birthday, Bennie flung open her curtains to reveal a grey bank of thunderous clouds.  The eerie light turned the newly opened late spring leaves an unnaturally dark green with shadows that clung beneath.  The grass glowed.  Bennie felt rather than heard a rumble that made her bones vibrate.  The birthday girl smiled, a sparkle in her eyes that matched the grass.  Today was the kind of day where Things Happened.

Inspired by "The Little Magic Shop, by Bruce Sterling.  "The early life of James Abernathy was rife with ominous portent."  This was one of my favorites from Feeling Very Strange.

If an alien came to earth how would you show it love?

For more than a week, the nights had been sweltering, the air thick with humidity and not a hint of breeze.  The evening news kept predicting blessed rain, but always at the end of the ten-day forecast.  No matter how close the days crept to the prediction, the rain stayed out of reach.

Naomi wheeled her TV cart to her farmhouse's front window and sat outside to listen to the gentle babble over the sounds of crickets and peepers having sex in the fields and woods that surrounded her for miles.  A gentle stream would usually be heard, but that had dried up close to the start of this unholy summer.  She lay back in the hammock strung from the house to a pillar of the wide porch and wished for a breeze.  Tonight would be another night out here, she thought.  Is it ridiculous to drag out a fan?

The thin, white, over-sized shirt she wore for pajamas was already clinging to her back and chest.  Living alone and so far out in the countryside, her house not even visible from the little-used road, Naomi thought maybe she'd go without, but her natural modesty wouldn't let her stray any further than the already daring nightwear.  She decided on a bowl of ice with a washcloth plus the fan.

Just as she swung her bare feet to the wide-planked porch boards, her television flickered and went out.  Naomi stood still to take stock.  The light in her kitchen was also out.  Conclusion?  She thought in her careful, scientific way.  No fan for me.  People with air conditioners loved to hog electricity, despite the warnings of brownouts and blackouts, and now look where it puts the more environmentally conscious.  In the dark.

Naomi let her eyes adjust.  She plotted out her route to her favorite flashlight, to the linen closet for a washcloth, and finally to her freezer for the quick removal of one tray of ice.  And a metal bowl.  She'd set it on her chest and absorb the chill until she had a bowl of water, but at least she might be able to sleep.  Before she implemented her plan, she was lured off her porch and on the dry dust of the path before her house.  The stars, without any light pollution, were brilliant, and she could see the long, dusty arm of the Milky Way.  It fascinated her as it always did, even though studying the stars was a part of her job.

359

The early morning sun warmed the cement of the back patio and was starting to dry out the nightcrawlers.  Hannah wrestled the sliding glass door open enough to slip through, being careful to close the screen behind her, as her mom would require.  The patio was still cool on her bare feet, but it was warm enough out that her pink pajamas were enough.  Hannah began rescuing the big worms by tossing them out into the still-dewy lawn.  The day smelled fresh and clean with a hint of earth, which Hannah would always think of as the smell of worms.

333

The grey spring skies swirled with fast-moving clouds and it was the perfect day to test the Mylar balloon tube.  The tube was six feet long and ten inches across and it would inflate with the strong wind, crinkling and filling until it pulled itself free to sail through the suburban backyards.  Kate ran after her balloon to inflate it again.  No one stopped the eight year old from running over their grass, and there were no fences except for two, much further down the block than she would travel.  Kate snatched up the balloon to fill and release it again, but she paused to look around.  Though not exactly the same, the houses were similar and gave Kate a similar feeling of quiet.  The trees had yet to unfurl leaves, but the grass was a brilliant green.  Dark grey and light grey swirled above.  She felt excitement and adventure around the corner.

316

A police siren undulated in the distance, crescendoed, and faded.  Traffic was quiet because it was Christmas Eve and most people already were where they needed to be.  The weatherman said the wind would pick up as a strong low front marched across the land, and though it was later than predicted, on it came.  The trees swayed and the low thrush of sound became steadier and steadier.  The temperature drop would come soon, but most would be in bed when the full force of the front passed overhead, not leaving red and green-wrapped presents, but rather downed branches and a sheen of ice.

295

After rolling over and flipping her pillow for the fourth time, Sara gave it up as a bad job and got out of bed.  She had the feeling that important life was happening without her.  Spending wakeful hours in bed only made her retread the same worn paths to frustration, so she wrapped herself in her comforter and went to her window.

It was unlikely that there would be any activity out on her street.  Sara lived in a quiet suburb, and the sidewalks were rolled up by 9:00 pm, but she couldn't shake that feeling that there was some spark of life just outside her sphere.  Her dresser sat under the window, and if she pushed it back slightly, she could sit, her feet on the baseboard heat, and lean her elbows on the windowsill to look outside.  Despite the cold November night air, she cranked open one casement window and arranged her comforter over her head.  The baseboard heat rose and filled her cocoon while the night chilled her nose and cheeks.

The street was predictably dark and no lights on in the three houses she could see; it was, after all, after two in the morning.  Sara sat and dreamed with her eyes open of adventure.

289

Dry, multi-colored leaves swirled on the wind, like an invisible hand had tossed the entire pile into the air.  Overhead, also in formation, was a cloud of black birds, swooping and turning, its edges swelling and compressing.  The whole world seemed to be in movement, unlike Jon, who stood as still as possible, arms extended, pretending he was the one orchestrating the leaves and the birds and the wind itself.

277

The search party's voices were ripped apart by the wind and smothered by the icy snow, but still they kept on for hours after dark.  Groups had already returned to the Inn Malcolm to report and defrost by the common room's enormous hearth.  None had good news.  The last group to return was the one lead on past sense by Fulcrum, Hannah's older brother.  Fulcrum had not wanted to return, but with the snows worsening, it was only a matter of time until search parties would be needed for them, and the group pleaded with the grieving brother's common sense.

272

The wind picked up, blowing with it the scent of snow.  Rolling clouds tumbled across the sky, steel blue and gray and suddenly stuck by sun, reminding the world that it still shone, no matter perspective.  Dried leaves rattled in the trees and the weakest tumbled to join their brethren on the ground.  Dark would come fast this day, but not before a fleeting, blazing show of a sunset.

235

The moon rose over the canyon wall, big and white and clear.  The rocks were still warm, but the air had been gathering a chill.  It was still, cloudless, the stars stretching out to forever and the start of the universe.  Cabe lay dying in his sleeping bag.  He had maneuvered himself so the fire was behind him and his head propped up on one of the low, warm rocks.  The additional heat from the fire warmed the top of his wispy-haired head.  Cabe shivered and stared at the moon, trying to gain perspective on his place in the world before he was gone from it.

223

Grit blew across the sidewalk and Shell squinted her eyes against it.  The wind seemed to blow constantly through the canyon-like streets, hot, usually, when it wasn't freezing.  The sharp shattering of glass had Shell crouch and scuttle towards the triangle zone against the nearest building, but it wasn't a falling panel this time; it was some jerk throwing a chunk of concrete at a rusted car.

160

The fat family trundled down the sidewalk, hoodies up against the cold drizzle, phones out and texting.  They shuffled or waddled or stopped to holler, depending on his or her way.  The large-headed dog strained on the end of his rope and chain, choking himself and earning a holler from one of the hoodies.  One of the smaller waddlers got too far ahead and elicited another holler, slightly harsher than that used on the dog, "You asshole!  Get back here!  Forchrisssake."

156

The heat went out in my apartment again three days ago, and the company that owns this building doesn't seem to care.  I'm the only tenant, so maybe they forgot about me.  That would suit me fine, except that it's damn cold out, and getting colder in here by the hour.  The electric still works, and today's the day I plan an adventure to string together extension cords to another floor so I don't have to pay to run a space heater.  If only I had the will to get out of my warm bed.

153

The monkeys were agitated again, and Chambers couldn't for the life of him figure out why.  It was a hot, humid evening.  Quiet.  Still.  Perhaps that was it--the stillness before a storm, though one hadn't been in the forecast.  Chambers would have welcomed the rain.  Shrill monkey screams broke the silence again, trees rustling.  What could have gotten into them?

135

The wind makes no noise; the trees and stones give voice to the wind. High in the broad pine, the wind played the branches and needles. The music crescendoed, suddenly rested for a beat and began the slow refrain. The wind played a different song on the old oak that included the percussion of snaps and creaks. The wind on stones plays melody, racing up and down the scale.

130

The house was so much darker after they had stuffed the windows with crumpled newspaper, but it certainly kept it warmer. The front door, a leaky thing even when there had been heat, took more papers than Gerta had thought it would, but she managed it. The ill-fitting storm door was locked and then screwed shut for protection, then filled with papers pressed in place with cut cardboard as she filled it. The inside door locked tight and duct taped around the edges. But it was so cold that winter. So very cold. The old lady upstairs died. So many people did, but that was the closest death to Gerta. They buried her in the snow out back, but Gerta doubted she was still out there. Scavengers ate even the roughest of meat.

128

The moon was a dim smudge behind the vaporous clouds. It ducked behind rooftops and peeked between bare, spindly branches. A bitter wind gusted and bit, sickened but did not die.

117

The rain rustled the leaves and tapped the roof, a welcome relief from the previous nights' heat. Sonja was pleased because she had repaired the roof herself; dangerous work without a ladder or the regular safety precautions, but she had gotten it done and it didn't leak. Her precious hammer lay next to her mattress. It had made all the recent repairs so much easier, and she didn't want to have it out of reach.

103

It was a hot, bright day and it was noisy with cicadas and lawn mowers. The occasional car roared down the side street, a popular cut-through in the down-turning neighborhood, thumping bass and rattling plastic. An old man groaned to his rat terrier as he shuffled out to his porch across the street, and he sat carefully in one of the molded plastic chairs.

Martin was sipping iced tea on his porch, watching. It felt like a day that something would happen, and although he had felt that way before, he was sure that this was the day. He was right.