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| The Fifteen Tree |
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| The closeness of the hollow that became the Fifteen Tree wraps about my body like a glove Do these siblings that surround me that engage and so astound me care at all about my wonder as I search the sky above? When the mother of these suckers died and gave them all their birth did they laugh at being born? did their sap run then, in mirth? Did they mourn the tree that gave them life? Bark sobbings of despair? Did the layers of their molecules join in knowing they were heir? When these children crash in dying on the loam that was their mother will they procreate in lying with the pollen of their brother? And will the children of these trees become inbred and weak or will the fact of just not knowing make them strong enough to seek a new landing place for children a new earth to grow upon a new bower for the sonnets in the forest's sweetest song? |
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| Episode 11 |
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| In the beginning |
| Episode 13 Bringing the darkness to light |
| On Wednesday summer nights there'd be free shows in a neighboring community's town square. A man and his son from downriver would hang a sheet between two trees and entertain the locals with free movies, selling popcorn and soda to cover his expenses. While the adults hung out in the taverns that skirted the square, we kids were given free rein so long as we didn't cross the street. A small block in a small town, the park was sheltered from the night sky by immense oaks and maples. The only structure was a bandstand, white and austere, victorian in design. All the cousins would be there, as well as classmates and strangers from nearby communities. And he would be there. He was my first love. Though I lived seven miles upriver, he rode his bicycle to see me on Saturdays. And when that wasn't possible he called me on the phone and we'd talk for hours. It was the first Wednesday night of summer in my thirteenth year. Newly conscious of my femininity, I carefully spread a blanket on the ground and settled in, sedately and maturely, for a night of cowboy movies, cartoons and tsk tsking at my younger cousins. "May I share you blanket?" His hair was dark against the evening sky, unruly and wonderfully curly. He had a smile that gave me goosepumps. As we watched the movie, talking and being shy in turn, I would, every so often, shiver from the cold night air. At first he just put his arm around me, very stiffly, but it warmed me nonetheless. Then, without warning, mid-movie, he jumped up and ran over to his sister on the other side of the park, where he unceremoniously dumped her from her blanket, whispered something in her ear and returned to wrap the new acquisition around the both of us. I was stunned. Holding my breath, I kept watching the movie, yet without seeing it. Then he started talking, in that low, husky voice, and was soon, again, at my ease. When the movie ended, the new darkness cloaked the movie-goers and the man from downriver started changing reels. That's when he made his move. Pulling the blanket over our heads, he kissed me... all giggly, dry and round. A most unforgettable first kiss. |
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