Getting the Hang of It

Fingers run across the keyboard. Letters, not notes. Words not music. You get the idea.

Years ago a teacher would tell the class to write an essay on….and of course we’d go home and sit down in front of a pad of paper and begin to write. Or not! Mostly not!

Running through the head was the theme assigned. But nothing much came to mind. My mind didn't want to write on that subject. It wanted to write on something else. A number of topics came to mind. Or rather I thought so. Seems then I had a mental block on topics, but didn't always admit it. I was stubborn about writing on what the teacher asked. Somehow it was not fair. Why that topic and not another? What made her’s so special.

Anyway, what to write about? What was on my mind? Maybe if I just started writing something good would come along and I could work on that. If I were lucky maybe it could turn it into something the teacher would like…accept as the assignment!

So I began. A word…then a phrase…then a completed sentence. Nope! That did not work. Definitely it did not work. Will have to try something else. But what?

So! I started with so! Pretended I was about to tell a story, about this….man…walking down the road…somewhere with trees,…out in the country, no houses or buildings. Rural. Weather entered the picture…hot…light breeze…so light you could hear…birds singing…and the sun was dancing through the trees…the leaves, and the day was a pleasant one.

But what was the man doing? Well, walking, of course, let’s make that with a cane, and carrying a bag or sack, kind of amorphous and lumpy, maybe his worldly goods? Out of work? Age around 48 or 52? Gray hair and a stumble to his walk. A hunch of shoulders, too.

Still, where was this man going? Was that something we needed to know? What kind of story was this? Was there a point or moral to the tale? Hmm. I’d have to think about that.

A dog! Yep, that would help. A dog comes into the picture, they are going to meet up. So the dog has to be coming from the other direction. And wandering as well as the man. No apparent goal in mind. Just a movement forward in their respective directions. But why?

To encounter each other, of course. By happenstance. And to see what they would do at that moment of mutual discovery.

So the dog meanders along the roadside. Which side? Meandering doing what? Smelling the weeds, the trash caught in the undergrowth. The dog is pulling the aroma history of the place into its mind to catalog what had happened there, who had trod this earth before him. To get a hint of purpose and meaning. The dog was being a dog. Meandering down the road.

The man we already established was moving in the other direction. Do we yet know why? Does it really matter? Seems the introduction to the dog is the point of this story. So let’s get it on.

The dog is on the other side of the road. Very little traffic to unsettle the dog. So the two figures of our saga approach one another. They near. The man spots the dog first. Wonders about it. Why is it alone out here in the country? It could get hit by a passing car or truck. What danger has it already survived?

The dog hears the man stumble on a rock in the roadway. The clack of the cane slapping the surface startles the dog. He sees the man. Curious he watches him. Stands very still and watches him.

As the man steadies his stance, the dog approaches. He sniffs. Didn't even bother to check for traffic. But silence told him what he needed to know.

Dog noses the man’s leg, then a shoe. Sniffs the cane. Seems to know what it is, a third leg. Senses the man is unsteady. Nears its body to the man’s leg, to support it, nudge it, feel the pressure of it. A sense of together.

The man ruffles the dog’s mane and ears. Pats him on the head. And continues walking. Down the road. Dog is now companion. They are alone with one another…that is, not alone.

May 8, 2014