R.E. Slater - Nightshades

Nightshades

by R.E. Slater

Evening was falling as I scrambled up onto the granary

roof gaining the lower elevation of its backside before

stepping up onto the upper level careful not to slice my

hands or legs on the rusted corrugated steel or loose-

headed nails fixing the panels down to the upper beams.

There I sat listening to the evensongs of nightbirds some

swaying on barbed fence lines, others on well weathered

wooden posts, singing away their cares across the grassy

fields having endured another windy day before settling

down into their scented beds of wheat, hay or alfalfa.

Before me the sunset blazed across western skies dipping

its last winks under the horizon then flash our a few red

rays a moment later as dusk stole across in rear guard and

I climbed down onto the lower roof to sit under the upper

eaves silent in the quieting earth watching and listening.

At last I rose in the dark to jump down into long grasses

below - sometimes mowed flat to stubble, sometimes filled

in by deep snowy drifts - as my hiding spot was used in all

weathers and seasons where solitude or contemplation

might be required nestled within a dying day's breaches.

I next skirted along the upper barnyard ridges circling

around the marshy hollow below hearing blackbird and

robin, thrush and lark, in last serenades as I gained the

front buildings of the family homestead cutting through

mowed country yards to our tiny house lit next door.

Chains rattled as I sidled by under tall tree canopies

as I spoke quietly to our hunting dogs held under their 

watchful eyes knowing my habits and watching my furtive

shadow flit along the gathering darks across the dewy soils

to choruses of marsh songs by crickets and peepers below.

Day was done, as was I, and what few moments I gained

from a walk across evening fields or rolling hillsides was

but brief reprieve to the next day's early black mornings

after a long night's last hours of study and homework

before rising to school, band, sports, and daily prayer.

R.E. Slater

March 24, 2021

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

R.E. Slater - The Hill

The Hill

by R.E. Slater

I began counting my steps as I climbed

our side hill slowly rising steadily ahead

remembering the summers when I had

rolled down its long green grasses or had

jumped across its failing backsides along

the tears in the ground pulling upon its

earthy  weight. Remembering flattened

cardboard boxes I used to slide down on

greasy green ice or raced my runner sled

down its steep face into the wetlands lying

far below. Happy days not unlike today

as I carefully measured and remeasured

my steps not wanting to be off in my

count as accuracy was needed this day.

I knew this hill as well as it knew me.

From skeet shooting its top with my dad

and brother to snowmobiling up into its

heavily drifted tops. My last memory was

watching the very first Skylab fly overhead

as a shiny thing reflecting the five o'clock

morning rays. I was headed to bed when

driving home but thought to go out and

wait. A few minutes later it flew overhead

and then I went to bed having stayed up all

night at my senior prom party having left

alone to go home. Not unlike all other past

days and years when I also went home to

fields and stars. Country kids learned to

improvise by looking up into the heavens.

The evening prior I had just graduated.

Only months away September would

find me leaving home to live at a distant

university far from my beloved hill and

its many memories. Youth was gone as

was my grandpa next door having lived

out his days on the old family homestead.

The farm lay fallow and I, as its sixth and

last generation, would not inherit its lowly

fields or wandering fence lines. The aged

barns were used up. So too the rusted

tractors and plows. The dairy herd sold

and fence lines, like their fields, lying in

disrepair. Around lay city encroachment

and like the hill, I and it would become

forgotten things flattened by progress.  

I already had known this from a very

young age, which is why I was tracing

my steps again, counting them lest my

earlier memories had failed me as I

stepped upwards along the worn rise.

Trying to find its final height. The last bit.

Before it fell away more steeply then its

earlier length when crossing its topmost

beam. But what I had once thought was its

final height was but a false perception.

For in the ground its real top lay farther

ahead. Probably a third of the way more

than when first looking. I found this a

great relief and would hold on to these

thoughts for the remainder of my life.

Thus I stepped off my slowing pace anew

to measure for accuracy - not perception.

And in the measuring was gaining a new

confidence to my initial perceptual dismay.

A sadness I had been holding within too

long as a young boy yet in middle school.

That its distance lay much further ahead of

me then I had once anticipated. And when

finally gaining its top, looking all around in

every direction, I tried to remember every-

thing that my eyes took in. All the changes

the many long years had brought. I saw them

again and remembered. Not even the backside

of the hill could remove those wandering glens

from my heart as it began spinning downwards.

Not for the last time I reminded myself

remember, remember... as I have from

time to time when fearing my journey too

quickly passing. That my youth was but an

interlude to many happy climbs to come on

a bare hill called life rising gracefully ahead.

At times speeding too quickly. At other times

too slowly. Yet life itself rises as it will to both

dreamer and old. It will take many a solitary

trek to step it off completely. To wear away.

And so I have remembered to this day the

vistas, the views, the hopes of all the promises

I had allowed might be, which could be. Even 

as I have allowed them now finding myself still

climbing. Still taking each day in stride with all

other previous days prior until I can no longer

roll down life's slopes as I had once climbed

so easily, so carelessly, so eagerly, in distant

summer days past I can only now remember

but faintly with a smile and light step.

R.E. Slater

March 21, 2021

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

A Process Relational World in Pictures

A Process Relational World in Pictures

"Keep planting new seeds until your mind becomes the earth

that gives birth to new worlds." - Curtis Tyrone Jones

"Moving in cooperation with one another can

become a symphony of reconciliation." - re slater

Click to enlarge - https://farm4.static.flickr.com/3218/3088862107_0d10ef8860_o.jpg

https://www.openhorizons.org/process-worldview.html

https://www.tumblr.com/search/alfred+whitehead