Oxbow

In Nottamun Town, not a soul would look up,

Not a soul would look up, not a soul would look down,

To show me the way to fair Nottamun Town.

Traditional Folk Song

~ Ash ~

You get to contemplating life real quick when facing the back end of a rifle. Gave a body pause and twisted time in ways that lengthened seconds to days. The first hit was really just a love tap, and to be honest, so was the second. But that third hit was brutal, got me all sprawled out and dreaming before I knew it.

Not long ago I almost abandoned hope of ever seeing this moment. Every path I took only went so far, then turned quiet-like, bringin’ me back to where it began. All I was left with were answers I had found in dreams, that is if I could remember them. But, whether they were worthwhile, well that was another thing entirely. At least every time I closed my eyes there she was, guiding me.

She was always the same. No older or younger. She was so real that she felt solid in my hand. But then, I’d wake up, and I’d blink, and my mind would rearrange itself to imagine her. Then I’d realize that I had forgotten what she looked like. My mind stored endless blurred images of this person I hadn’t ever met outside my dreams.

The memories of her laugh echoed in my mind and had me smiling sometimes, even when I weren’t dreaming. Without me knowing, a part of her stitched itself to my bones and grew with me. All I knew was that every time I closed my eyes I was given another opportunity to save her. It took years to learn, but turns out that changing a dream ain’t so different than creating a new idea, just born somewhere in the middle of ideating.

Still, there I was, all sprawled out and beat by the butt of a rifle. At least it was better than facing the end of a barrel or the sharp end of a knife. Whenever that happened, I’d look to where the sun met the sky, for that straight horizon, so I could join in on the laugh that funnied itself into my mind.

It was all just a damn hoot. A fucking riot. There was little I could change, and I often found myself witnessing things that ought never be imagined. Got to the point where there were times I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

And so, I learned to navigate. I learned how to bring myself to such a level of attention that I could move in both states, sleep and awake, by the feel of my bones. As I moved forward, I placed one foot in front of the other with an eye out to the sky- watching as light bent over the trees. It was the curve in the light that caused Bent Fork River’s oxbow to gleam and even put sheen over Nottamun. It was how I knew that once again, it was another day.

It gave a different quality to time and a different sense to livin’. A kind of ghostly thing that haunted every decision. Gave worry to a person in a way that agonized a body. Almost fooled me into believing that I knew everything, only to remember that the things that were worrying me were only the stuff of dreams.

But the voices always found a way to whittle their way back into my head and remind me there was a reason that the hair on my arms at times stood on end. Yet what held me goin’ was knowing no matter how many steps I took backward, even corn was able to find light and rise. And here I stood with eyes. And so, depending on the situation, they’d close and once again back I’d get to dreamin’.

First was the picture, then the voices and the sound. Sound came from all directions, loud and cacophonous. Didn’t even know how to make myself speak at first, but then the words came often as I remembered them. But on I moved. At first, I moved without thinking, trying to understand the feel of everything happening. Only to have it all dissolve to begin again.