This Land

This Land

A Story by Crowley

     From the porch of the small cabin, the man looked into the handsome cut lined with Aspens and Cottonwoods long past autumn prime. The colors, muted brown and faded yellow, leaves hanging perilously, fluttering, chittering, waiting for the languid drop to the carpeted soil.  The trees leaned slightly westward, away from the mountainous side of the cut, branches reaching like sinners arms toward the light of a god sun that constantly threatened darkness, swift and complete.

     Somewhere beyond the trees he could hear the brook burbling new world words, sliding through ancient volumes and making flat those stones that would feign impediment, but over time give way to entropy and Mother's not so gentle pressing.

     The man puffed slowly on a pipe made of elk bone, and thought about those men that had come before him.  What determination. What sturdy folk. Long on desire for a better life, short on the wisdom it would take to war with a brutal nature, obdurate and wary of intrusion. 

     He thought of frightened children and worried mother's, their only blanket of protection being a man with no choices. A man that has promised the heavens to provide, to feed, to nurture, balancing on the knife edge of existence and not knowing the rules as proposed by creation.  Fairness was an invention of the city man, one whose interaction with other city folk was not tangled in survival at the most basic level. A javelina with a litter of reds  knows nothing of fairness when a young boy foolishly gets too close and finds himself bloody and dying at the bottom of a ravine and typhoid knows not the negotiations of men, only the swift and indiscriminate slaughter of those too weak to engage. 

     The man finished his pipe, stood and stretched.  At this time of all times, this was his land. But, it hadn't always been so. He whistled a long low whistle to hear the echo off the walls of the cut. As the the whistle came back and then began to fade, he said a little prayer to those who had come before. Surely he was no match for that breed of man.

© 2019 Crowley


My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register




Reviews

A silent whisper my friend. Nice work finish the book. I to will finish the one I'm working on its called The little old lady In the shoe and the rest or her story. Its about her and her Husband who is Saint Nicholas and he eats a bagel and chocked and died leaving Nancy Claus to become The little old lady in the shoe. Oh if you're confessed in the two names you'll have to read the book buy when done I'll put a small taste hear.

Posted 3 Months Ago


The fascinating element of this story for me is just how removed we are from how things were just a century ago let alone the frontier era I once found a grave (during my grave rubbing stage) That had an epitaph the said Father Benjamin Barger died of a broken leg the date on it was 1856! I am not sure I could survive in the frontier:( certainly not now in the state i'm in but then again men at 50 were the exception and not the rule most men died at the age of 38 in the 1850's!

Posted 7 Months Ago


I grew up among this type of self-sufficiency & I live among it now. Your story has a bunch of great points, but the one that stands out for me is how there's a push-and-pull between how determined humans can be to tame the land & shape it to their hand, and yet mother nature is continually wearing away anything man creates that isn't kept up vigilantly! I had a little mind flash, reading this. Maybe many (conservative) rednecks don't mind the s**t going on in govt/politics becuz they are too busy fighting the elements & not hearing the constant drone of strife in this country. Your story makes me wonder if it's not better to tuck the ole head, stay focused on our tasks at hand, & let the crazies do what crazies do (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 7 Months Ago


A generous salute to those that went before; self sufficiency being their default setting, and as kentuck 14 observes, there are many today who would not stand the test.

Then again, I would venture that today's urban jungle, though different, is equally, if not more fraught with challenge.

Love that second paragraph, so uniquely descriptive.

Beccy.

Posted 7 Months Ago


Crowley

7 Months Ago

Thanks girl!! to much reading older stuff lately, gets me thinking about how overcoming suffering an.. read more
Seems to me after reading it four or five times, that this is both metaphorical and spiritual. If wrong, i apologise but.. the actual story seems to have an underlying feel as if another plain's involved - but somehow shadowy. Past influences the now, the people involved, the events relevant in the continuity of Future. Is that man a leader or ruler, a sage or wise man, a god or.. the Lord?

An intriguing and interesting tale; in some ways.. myth-like. My mind's flitting around.. will need come back to it, till i answer your question.. what do you feel, think...

Posted 7 Months Ago


Crowley

7 Months Ago

Thanks Emma!! It felt a little spiritual writing it, I am intrigued with the fortitude of humans, ma.. read more
Those old timer's had to be a sturdy stock . . . most people today could not stand the test! Nice meditation on what it takes to break new ground. It could almost mean anything in life untried and beyond man's limits.
T

Posted 7 Months Ago


Crowley

7 Months Ago

Thanks man, was reading some books form those days and it floors me. People talk about going back to.. read more

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

95 Views
6 Reviews
Rating
Added on November 12, 2019
Last Updated on November 12, 2019

Author

Crowley
Crowley

Phoenix, AZ



About
Like to hang out with other writers and see what's what. Have met a lot of good people on this and other sites through the years. Decided to come back and do a little posting and reading. Hit me up i.. more..

Writing
Torched Torched

A Poem by Crowley


Blooming Blooming

A Poem by Crowley



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..


Seasons Best Seasons Best

A Poem by Neville


Chasing Cars Chasing Cars

A Poem by MsJewel





Advertise Here
Want to advertise here? Get started for as little as $5