Names for those wrinkles
"Have you names?" The voice was firm and solid, but the source escaped the man. At first, he thought to ignore the question. A meandering flight attendant no doubt. But, the voice and the question grew.
"Have you names for those wrinkles?" Well there you go, more revealed as to the direction of the un-unsourced question. Alex was looking into the small hand mirror, the one that is pock marked or wearing short of the silver that makes for reflection. Who ever was asking ... about his wrinkles had a nerve. The words were on his tongue when a bird half the size of his palm lighted on the huckleberries. The Titmouse was a sweet enough creature the wizard had seen many of them pushing here and there, riding winds. Looking at the tiny bird it became apparent. The Titmouse would know no wrinkles, Alex Santiago said in reply, "I know each and every one of them and with each line there is a story."
"I thought as much. We watch you. You know that don't you? Our light and hollow bones make it easy for us to flitter. We remember some of what we see, but mostly we have to come back and look again. We don't have much space for wrinkles." The tiny face and eyes seemed to blink. But I may be tossing my thinking onto its. "To know those wrinkles as well as you do must mean you are ... very attached to them," the bird concluded.
Alex enjoyed these encounters best of all; birds were a wonderful source of honesty. Rubbing his face the wizard traveled the indentations and saw the old barn, and the sign that hung across the weathered face of his former life as welder. The boy had done great things with their partnership. Smiling to himself Alex thought to feel again, this time the face was etched with laugh lines. As he slowly relaxed the lines smoothed though they were still there, he could feel them, his near timeless face wore laughter differently. Dani is one of those who can see the mostly invisible roads as clearly as any other. She sees me just as clearly. This time the wizard was laughing out loud, sending the Titmouse and her companions scattering. He wasn't expected, but most of his visits were spontaneous rather than planned. Alex craved a bite of shortbread and ... he stopped mid-thought as the image of his beautiful wife rippled across his face. The gift must have arrived. Wool and dog-hair socks. Laughing aloud once again, Alex counted the blessings again. How many years had they been together? Nearly twenty. And, he was more than ninety-five years by calendar time. He was the wizard but it was his wife who could tag weather in advance with the accuracy any book-maker would put money on. How many blessings was that?
The long summer had moved into a soggy near cold late October. Dani wouldn't wait to open her mother's package. It was Thursday, a work night. Still. The socks would tempt her. The weather conspired. From his perch in the maple behind D-Square Alex Santiago could see the brown paper wrapping opened on Dani's coffee table. The dark roasted Kona beans were already in the grinder. He listened to the sharp whirl and the tamp on the grinder lid as the dusty beans settled into the espresso maker. Seeing his step-daughter in her zone of comfort this way, the wizard decided he'd wait. To see her this way was enough for now. She did not need meddling, not just yet. With a zip of his coat, he was gone.
Dear Ma, I LOVE THEM! Your needles have been busy. So deft! Is that what keeps you flexible rather than brittle, and warm at heart in spite of all that rubbish and rhetoric about being old? I love that you mixed the wool with the dog hair. Yes, I can feel the difference, someone taught me to notice things like that. I love that they are big and floppy and if I tug them, up they reach. Up and over my knees. I'm tucking into my cozy chenille robe about to slide into those Birki's and will be out the door to feed the chickens who don't have a Ma to knit them floppy socks. The dark Kona roast is bitter and rich, the perfect top-it-off gift for the near-snow white knit.
"Have you names?" The voice was firm and solid, but the source escaped the man. At first, he thought to ignore the question. A meandering flight attendant no doubt. But, the voice and the question grew.
"Have you names for those wrinkles?" Well there you go, more revealed as to the direction of the un-unsourced question. Alex was looking into the small hand mirror, the one that is pock marked or wearing short of the silver that makes for reflection. Who ever was asking ... about his wrinkles had a nerve. The words were on his tongue when a bird half the size of his palm lighted on the huckleberries. The Titmouse was a sweet enough creature the wizard had seen many of them pushing here and there, riding winds. Looking at the tiny bird it became apparent. The Titmouse would know no wrinkles, Alex Santiago said in reply, "I know each and every one of them and with each line there is a story."
"I thought as much. We watch you. You know that don't you? Our light and hollow bones make it easy for us to flitter. We remember some of what we see, but mostly we have to come back and look again. We don't have much space for wrinkles." The tiny face and eyes seemed to blink. But I may be tossing my thinking onto its. "To know those wrinkles as well as you do must mean you are ... very attached to them," the bird concluded.
Alex enjoyed these encounters best of all; birds were a wonderful source of honesty. Rubbing his face the wizard traveled the indentations and saw the old barn, and the sign that hung across the weathered face of his former life as welder. The boy had done great things with their partnership. Smiling to himself Alex thought to feel again, this time the face was etched with laugh lines. As he slowly relaxed the lines smoothed though they were still there, he could feel them, his near timeless face wore laughter differently. Dani is one of those who can see the mostly invisible roads as clearly as any other. She sees me just as clearly. This time the wizard was laughing out loud, sending the Titmouse and her companions scattering. He wasn't expected, but most of his visits were spontaneous rather than planned. Alex craved a bite of shortbread and ... he stopped mid-thought as the image of his beautiful wife rippled across his face. The gift must have arrived. Wool and dog-hair socks. Laughing aloud once again, Alex counted the blessings again. How many years had they been together? Nearly twenty. And, he was more than ninety-five years by calendar time. He was the wizard but it was his wife who could tag weather in advance with the accuracy any book-maker would put money on. How many blessings was that?
The long summer had moved into a soggy near cold late October. Dani wouldn't wait to open her mother's package. It was Thursday, a work night. Still. The socks would tempt her. The weather conspired. From his perch in the maple behind D-Square Alex Santiago could see the brown paper wrapping opened on Dani's coffee table. The dark roasted Kona beans were already in the grinder. He listened to the sharp whirl and the tamp on the grinder lid as the dusty beans settled into the espresso maker. Seeing his step-daughter in her zone of comfort this way, the wizard decided he'd wait. To see her this way was enough for now. She did not need meddling, not just yet. With a zip of his coat, he was gone.
Dear Ma, I LOVE THEM! Your needles have been busy. So deft! Is that what keeps you flexible rather than brittle, and warm at heart in spite of all that rubbish and rhetoric about being old? I love that you mixed the wool with the dog hair. Yes, I can feel the difference, someone taught me to notice things like that. I love that they are big and floppy and if I tug them, up they reach. Up and over my knees. I'm tucking into my cozy chenille robe about to slide into those Birki's and will be out the door to feed the chickens who don't have a Ma to knit them floppy socks. The dark Kona roast is bitter and rich, the perfect top-it-off gift for the near-snow white knit.
Thank you my love you are the perfect fit!
Dani
Before she finished the second cup of devilishly rich espresso, Dani pushed SEND on her laptop, found her robe and slipped into the navy blue Birkenstocks. The chickens expected a treat before settling into the tractor Dani moved around her backyard. She counted her blessings. How many was that?
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