Through the Back Window

This day is unusually warm for the latter days of January and the sun is shining brightly as I gaze from my back window. The squirrels are running helter skelter, They only hibernate in the very cold weather at this latitude. There's a row of Arbor Vitae evergreens along the north side that I planted When Sheila and Sherry and Janis were playing under the big oak trees on the corner. Was it that long ago; they are at least forty feet tall: the trees, not the girls. Nestled against them for protection from the blizzard winds are some wild persimmon trees with lots of fruit hanging. Should be delicious about now.

Huge oak, mulberry, and native pecan are scattered around shading at least an half acre and there is my chair where I like to sit and play with the three dogs. Molly (Lobo Blanco)is a pure white Pyrenees of about eighty pounds who can be problematic when she wants to be a lap dog. Then there is Ollie the dachshund who will fight any intruder yet curl in your arms like a new born baby. Then there is Scooter, the one eyed Shiatsu, who appropriately looks like a thief for he has stolen my affection and keeps me company 24 hours a day.

The little black cap chickadee and wren are flitting in and out of the honeysuckle while over head the pigeon and crow dart about. Hey there's a big bird: Nope, just a B52 and a triplet of F18's are coming in from the north. Just an average day and my mind begins to wander back; back to the time when this was covered with wild sunflower twelve or more feet tall and the days when my nine year old son, who is now 61, and I cut them down with hoe and axe so we could have a garden and build a nice house to replace the tiny concrete block house where he and his mother and little sister and I had moved. Before Martin Luther King made his speech, I had a dream.

Little Rusty, the welsh pony, is standing back there. He pays no attention to fences, just walks through past the water trough to the back of the house where, with his nose, he turns the faucet on and goes to the end of the hose for some cool water, And there's Blackie that my youngest daughter was riding while still in diapers, and later Sandy, the quarter horse mare. Sandy had two gaits; Gone and Stop. I'll never forget that Pinto that kicked Michael about six feet in the air. I thought he would be crippled but he never even slowed down

I wonder where those quail are that enjoyed the grain the horses dropped and there were those wierd looking rabbits. Cottontail crossed with black and white domestics. They play around in those rows of tomato, Okra, and squash in the summer. Wild onion and garlic grow everywhere. Sweet potato, peanut, and black eyed peas just love this soil. It was just sand until I ran the horses back here and plowed the straw and manure in. Hey there's Billy, the crazy goat I hooked to the cart for Cheri and Michael. He thought I was his mama. That's alright until he decides to curl around my leg like a cat; his horns are about a foot long. Remember when he climbed the ladder to be on the roof with me?

The horses fade one by one as the children grow older. The trees start to grow where the horses once followed me with muzzle pressed between my shoulder blades. I can't stop it any more than Sandy could keep from nudging me when I stopped to quickly. My children are grown, Their precious Mother is gone. With her went the feeling of home. A quarter century has passed and I am back here at last although it can't be the same. But, sometimes in my bedroom, I catch just a whiff: Este Lauder Body Satinee?? Could it really be?

Yes, the scene from the back window has changed as, inexorably, time has moved on. But as I look out and back I know that, today, I really am
-----Back Home.