Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Crooked Letter

"Papi, Why is the sky blue?" Rachel asked. She was lying on her back in the shallow meadow, bits of grass and catkins clinging to her green and white checked frock and pinafore. Nearby sat her father on a fold up stool, under the weaping arms of an ancient willow tree, emptying the picnic hamper they'd packed earlier that morning. "Papi, Papi! Why is the sky blue?" Her father smiled and answered ryely, "Because 'Why' is a crooked letter that can't be straightened, Sweety. Come here and help me with the sandwiches and chicken."

Monday, July 12, 2010

The Retired Elite

The throaty, throbbing roar of a dozen panheads devoured the tinkling of bellbirds waging war over nesting territory, and spread through our township as the sun rose into the pale grey of early morning. I was walking briskly as four of, "The Great Hairy Unwashed" arrested me with a growl of implied threat, "Where do you think you're going, Old Man?" "Back to my camp," I replied, "You can follow if you like? I care not." They laughed with mirthless, cock-sure glee, and herded me forward with their bikes. They had no idea; and few knew of this, out of the way, high country, enclave. Or, that behind its painted facades, it's paintball, lasertag and mythbuster clubs, lived a retired elite; former members of a nation's once proud volunteer militias. The alarm had finally been sounded, and like the peel of the start of some boxers' bout, the game was on, now it was time for some fun.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The Water Carrier

"Hummel, Hummel!" yelled Dirk as he ran across the street to join me. "Morrs, Morrs!" I chorused in reply. "Who do you think will win the match today?" I asked, as we continued to jog the crowded path that flanked the edge of Hamburg's Binnenalster. "St. Pauli, of course!...?..." shreiked Dirk, as he stumbled and fell down, stone lined, stairs and into the water, disappearing under the bow of the docking 'Saselbek.'