|Fiddleneck in House Pits near Pounding Stone|
Throwing a pine cone at my brother,
I reeled through brittle needles to hide
behind a short, flat stone in the middle
of the forest: I was the cowboy
and he was the Indian. As I jumped up
to toss a dirt clod, I saw smooth cups
brimming with humus in the stone.
Standing transfixed as he charged, “Stop!”
I yelled, as he pelted me with pebbles.
“You’re dead!” he shouted, “Told you--
I’m the cowboy!” Dizzy, I felt
I was about to remember something,
|Pestles in Pounding Stone|
falling into some other life that I once
had known. “Boys!” Dad shouted, “Time
to go to the lake!” But I couldn’t move
from the stone in the middle of the woods.
Finally, Dad ambled over. “What
is this?” I asked. “Mud people
lived here,” he sneered. “Let’s go!”
“Where are the mud people? Where
did they go?” I wondered aloud, but he
didn’t answer. For a moment I
was afraid, as he walked farther
and farther ahead of me, that I
could be like one of the mud people
who had vanished, so I paused,
alone between the strange stone
and the tiny boat by the shore.