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Sunday, May 20, 2012

The Last Straw

Blog Hop #48

I sit at my table in the cool dining area, stirring my ice water.  The thermostat says it is 93 in the shade.  I listen to the dog bark.  Stirring my ice water.  The dog is wildly barking.  I can imagine it straining at the end of its chain.  Leaping into the air spinning and landing backwards.   Rutgers is one of the neighborhood dogs.  He is a Vizla; red, lean, muscular, one year old, and kept on a ten foot chain.  Rutgers has begun as a well natured animal.  But I have seen what time spent at the end of a chain can do to even the nicest creature. 

When the young man across the street first brought the small pup home, I thought it might be a signal of the halt to the endless parties taking place at the house.  I hoped.  I hoped for a few quiet weekends with little to no traffic on our cul-de-sac.   For the first few weeks, my dreams seem to come true.

At first I imagined he would join the other pet owners walking their dogs around the neighborhood stopping to chat and be friendly.  I thought, maybe he would have an interest in the young lady up on the next street.  Perhaps they might walk their dogs together, she has two Greyhounds.  The two dogs seemed to accept one another as I watched them being walked.

I peek out the kitchen window to see what is whipping the dog into such a fuss.   The children directly across the street are in their own front yard playing hop-scotch while their father inflates a wading pool.  I worry about  the “some days” and the strength of that rusty chain. Right now, the dog seems to be wanting to join the kids playing.  How long before that playfulness turns to envy.  In this heat, I would dare say not long at all.

I peer at the thermostat again, only 2:15 and inching towards 100 degrees.  That poor dog.  I have stopped on my walks to fill it’s water dish.  Jumping and leaping at the end of the chain either makes him very thirsty or he has knocked it over spilling the contents.  In this heat, he should at least be able to get some shade.  Wouldn’t that at least be mandatory?  Aren’t there some sort of laws regarding the care of animals?  Where is the SBCA when you want them?

Dogs barking and barking and barking and barking, drives me crazy! But, as much as I would like to be mad at the dog, I am disgusted by the person who calls themselves his person/owner/family.  Such disregard for life.  How can you be in your mid thirties and still not respect the fragility of life?  I guess, that would be the same respect the owner has for his neighbors, by leaving an animal out barking at all hours of the day and night.
I sit at my kitchen table.  It is the last straw.  I pick up my phone and call the authorities.  If you won’t take care of your responsibilities, there are others who will.  Your rights do not outweigh the rights of others inhabiting this planet, even if they can’t speak for themselves. 

Tuesday, May 8, 2012


For My Sweet Granddaughter - from Grammaleigh       

Her name will be Riley.  She isn’t born yet, but she has already changed the world we live in.  I dream of her.  I see her dark shiny hair and bright smiling eyes.  I can feel her hugs, so warm and filled with love.  She has changed the world I live in. In my dreams, I see her face floating in front of mine.

And yet, my heart is filled with trepidation.  It is the time of the Great Winds.  People have forgotten or ignored or were never taught the lessons of the Great Winds.  But, they are upon us.

The Aztec have built monuments, the Egyptians have carved mountainsides to these lessons, the Hopi Indians show writings in caverns, and we “learned people” tend to dismiss their written hieroglyphics.  We pronounce these writings to be merely “stories”.  Stories written on a grand scale, worldwide, depicted by the ancients, and we pronounce them as “fairy stories”. No matter, the “proof is in the pudding” and 2012 will change the world as we know it.

Some believe we humans were born of the Earth as constructed by their God.  Others believe we are a genetic mutation from one of the native animals and some “alien” being of super intelligence.  We are in fact a by-product of the seeds of the Real Humans, blown on the Great Wind.  Drifting onto this planet as if they were merely dandelion seeds.  Lightly, they blew each seeking their specific growing “site”.
In the beginning, the galaxy swirled with dust becoming the planets and stars as we know them.  Along with the swirling, came the Great Winds.  Along with the Great Winds came the Real Humans, the Star Children.  We know not which galaxy or world they originated from.  Are women really from Venus and men from Mars? We don’t know how long they drifted before alighting on this planet.  We do believe, if it happened once, it can happen again.

For centuries, mothers have pulled the shutters against the winds.  People have sought shelter from the storms.  Over the ages, loving “seedlings”, our children,  have been harvested from their bedchambers, never to be seen again.  Dragged by unseen hands as though plucked like carrots from the ground. Seedlings have been observed floating along the Aeolus winds, ever away from their homes. Floating, tumbling, arms and legs not quite stiff and straight, and yet not limp and free falling.  Asleep.  Unknowing.  They float further and further away from their “families”, into the starry abyss above. 

Any who have inherited the extra 21st chromosome are the good seed.  Down Syndrome.  As they floated to the ground, those uneducated named them.  They are the true “good seed”.  They are the first.  They are the Real Humans they are the Star Children.  Loving, giving, smiling and glowing.  They are the real humans. They blew onto our world from another, on the Great Wind.  They blew here from the Heavens.  They The Real Humans introduced this world to “humanity”.  And the hand that spins the universe calls for further propagation of the species. 

The good seeds are ripe.  They are ripe with goodness and light. As they rise on the wind, from their resting places. Their leaving only encompasses youthful ages, from infant to teenager.  None who have reached full maturity and begun the downside of life force are chosen. None who have had a lifetime of experience are moved on.  Do they “land” with experience imprinted within their DNA?  How will they feed themselves upon their “arrivals”?  I question the universe,  only to hear the hollow laughter of the stars in reply.   These answers are not for me to know, I am not one of chosen.  I am the crone, the grandmother.  I am the keeper of the worries.

Legend says the Great Wind takes only the most ripe, only the best.  But, it would seem that way to any family who has lost one of its own to the stars.  I promise myself to buy “stays” for Riley.  Tie-downs for her bed posts and bars for her windows.  However, I already know that won’t happen.  No matter what precaution we take for those with the inner glow, they will leave or die on the vine.  They must be allowed to move on, or wither away in their psychogenic fugue state. Floating on the winds.  The very winds that originally brought us all here, through these chosen ones, will then take them away.  Seeds for the next inhabitable planet.

This planet overflows  with people.  This planet has been fortunate to be graced with knowing the Real Humans, the Star Children.  It is time again for the mass propagation.  It is time again for the Great Winds.  These winds will be taking our best with them.  I worry how many will leave this planet. I already begin to mourn for the loss of Riley. I am certain she will be one of the chosen.  She too will rise up, into the air, floating as if dandelion seeds, to be borne away.

Leigh Young