Home

You should start here and go from there.

Except for a cactus infringing on the sacred space of the arrangement of stones that lined the spot, nothing else alive seemed to be there. The stones lay arranged in a circle of wonderfully whimsical structures. There were arches and tunnels and loops of walls ranging across the landscape within that circle. Forms of vast creativity only a child could believe would hold up over time imposed on the scenery that, except for the cactus, respected the sacred right of childhood and left the lot alone.

Shadows began to form between the rocks and grow lengthwise from the ground where the structures arose. Now Job skidded down the rock. At the base of the hill, where the circle of stones mapped out his classmate’s world, Job paused. Then he nudged at the stone directly before his boot. What started as a gentle nudge with the toe of shoe at once launched into a well planted kick, his right leg flinging wildly behind him before bashing into the face of the rock. As if breaking through a line of defense, Job pushed ahead, shouldering his way through the children’s playground. He wandered in and out of their small buildings, full of shameful combinations of feelings. At once self-pitying and impressed, elated and guilty, Job shambled through the abandoned ruins, inspecting every inch. In the crevices of each assembled stone, Job wondered if there might be an answer hidden. So he took a rock from the top of a wall by his side and held its weight there for a moment before throwing it, far, across the playground. Unknown to Job, the rock tumbled outside the circle and stopped at the foot of the cactus where it stayed for many years to after which a desert turtle made an effort to roll it away as it made towards an intended mate to impress her with his strength.

Despondent, Job turned back toward the hill he had spent the last three years trying to climb, and walking home. Grinding his heels into the dirt the whole way back and casting up little puffs of floury dust that looked like a wild roller coaster of hills and valleys. The wave of dust followed him home, clinging to his pant legs. Thin streams, low and skulking.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s