Serenity

This is something I wrote when I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. I tried to write something interesting and describe the quiet place I retreat to in my head when life gets to me. It quickly degenerated into me thinking about a girl I hadn't thought of in years and then me trying to make the story funny. I failed.

I'll never finish this, but it does have it's good points:

Like an old photograph, yellowed, faded by time and dog eared from so many years of staring at it longingly, I find myself looking at the familiar path home. It seems a lifetime since I gazed at this scene and at the same time it feels I was here just yesterday, but maybe that's just forgotten fragments of a melted dream.

The mind can play tricks on a person and I'm not one to fall easily prey,no matter how enticing the illusion might be, so I check myself before I go any further.

It's an early mid May morning by the feel of it. The sky is blue and welcoming the promise of a beautiful day filled with joy and wonder. I'm sure somewhere close by young boys are planning grand adventures as I did as a child. First they'll do their chores and then they'll head off to the sweet freedom of childhood...rowing their boats, fishing, jumping in the now warming water of the lake, skipping stones and dreaming a thousand dreams before they're called home for dinner much to their chagrin.

I take a deep breath of the morning air and smell the faint scent of the familiar pine trees mixed with the smell of my beloved lake. Maybe I really am home. Finally.

I take in the scene before me and soak it all in. On either side of the drive is a red brick wall standing 10 feet tall and maybe 20 feet long off in either direction. In front of the brick are red roses reaching out to greet the morning sun which is now just beginning to bathe them in warm light like a mother casting a loving smile on her newborn child.

There is a brass plaque on the left hand brickwork that reads "Serenity Oaks" and between the stone walls lies an asphalt drive. It all seems so real, maybe I really have come home after all this time. The drive is lined on either side by majestic
Oak trees, probably 20 or 30 on either side, reaching high to catch the warming life giving rays of mother sun and then stretching across the drive to touch the arms of their brethren forming a protective tunnel. Silent sentinels that have watched over and protected this place for years untold.

I start a slow walk down the drive taking it all in...the smells, the textures, the light that slowly filters in from the tree tops and the faint sound of a breeze passing over the tops of the furthest reaches of the guardians of the drive. It's all so familiar.

Much like the age old tales of passing through a dark tunnel drawn towards a brilliant light I notice a bright light ahead. A light full of love and promise but much more solid and identifiable : Home. My home.

The house that graces Serenity Oaks doesn't belong in the wilds of north Idaho,
it more resembles a small southern plantation. It's nothing grandiose, but it's still spectacular after passing through a dark tunnel of ancient oaks and not what you would expect to see on the banks of the Pend O'Reille river. (To call it a river at this point of its journey is a huge understatement...it's 3/4 of a mile to the opposite shore, but that pales in comparison to what is called the lake... 30 miles in length and depths that plummet to over 1000 feet.)

My wide eyed wonderment is interrupted by the barking of the charging dogs.They are raising a horrible din that an intruder has made his way upon their domain and I stop in my tracks. As they come into view I recognize the lead dog...it's my beloved Banshee, my childhood friend. Oh, she and I went on so many grand adventures together. She's a small little thing, but she was always my protector, my confidant, and dare I say it, my closest friend.

I yell at the top of my lungs "Ban-shee" and pat my thighs wondering if she'll recognize me after all this time. I have little to worry about. She quits barking to conserve her energy and doubles her speed to come charging into the arms of her boy. She always thought I was her boy instead of her being my dog and who knows, maybe she was right.

Banshee, the little dog with a heart bigger then the tall oaks that line the path. She took it as her solemn duty to protect the entire family and she never wavered in her sacred oath. Lord, I've missed her something fierce.

She was followed quickly by the others: Beau, Mouse, and Nancy.

Sweet little Nancy.

The last time I saw her she had a horrible growth on her eye that caused us all great concern, but the red growth was now gone and she'd grown into a beautiful girl. She was now bigger then the others, but she held back quiet as a mother's prayer while I greeted my other puppies.

I looked to her and called her over. She cautiously made her way to me as the others slowly backed away somehow sensing there was a penance to be paid. As soon as she was near I grabbed her in my arms and as a tear fell down my cheek I whispered
"I'm sorry baby girl, I am so sorry" She whimpered softly, shuddered, licked my cheek and let out a couple of happy barks, then went prancing off with the others with her tail wagging as if it had fresh batteries installed to lubricate the mechanism. A huge weight has been lifted from both our shoulders and she bounced around joyfully with the other pups happily joining in their frolicking. They ran in circles around me nipping at one another's heels barking with Nancy stopping every now and then to look up at me with a smile in her eyes knowing finally that she was wanted and remembered.

Like the pied piper of canines I slowly make my way towards the house while the joyous menagerie continued to circle around my legs.

I go on and climb the front steps of the house, slowly the French doors open, and she appears.

Tonya.

My little Pisces girl. Yeah, that's an inside joke between her and I, and no I'm not going to make you privy to that information. There's certain things that should remain between two people and this is one of them. However I will share this: If God created a girl in his dreams, he would've waved his magic "I am God" wand and made Tonya.

Or Diane.

(Ah, Di...did I ever tell you that I loved you? If I did I meant it. You know that already, but it's still nice to hear it once in a while isn't it?.)

Sorry, I get a little confused about the women I'm canonizing sometimes, let me continue...

I'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Almost, but not quite, I could never forget.

A thousand poets writing in a thousand languages for a thousand years could never come close to describing her beauty. Her curly hair as black as midnight holds all the stars in the sky captive, the sunlight reflects off her loose curls that shimmer down to her breasts. Her dark eyes twinkle with the intensity God intended only for the sun and as she smiles the flowers wilt in shame for they know they could never posses such powerful beauty themselves.

Tonya.

I've only had brief glimpses of her on my long journey and most of those in long forgotten dreams leaving me in waking hours to only recall fragments of her porcelin white skin that's as smooth and cool to the touch as fresh dew on the ground. The tears of the moon touched her gentle skin and recalled a forgotten memory painting a picture of long lost dreams. She was kissed by the gentle lips of the one true God and every pagan God that man has ever sworn an oath to. No one else could of granted her such beauty, nor could any other woman have ever worn it so gracefully or naturally. It was part of her being.

I loved her long before I was born, she is the embodiment and meaning of the words beauty and grace and she wears them like a crown. How could I have ever been so fortunate to not only meet this displaced angel whom God had so clearly smiled upon, let alone make her mine?

Oh well, it wasn't a time for asking questions. I run to her and bury my head between her breasts. We hold one another tight for what seems an eternity and then she whispers in my ear "Welcome home."

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Maybe I really am home. Or is this just a dream? There's only one way to find out...

I chomp down on her breast like a prize winning trout striking at a Lucky Lewey lure that's baited with stink bait.

"OUCH", I scream as she hits me in the head hard enough to make me see a remarkable replica of Hailey's comet behind my closed eyes. It's a good thing she's wearing a bra because there's a fair to middlin chance I could've done some real damage the way I went after the bait. Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky and make a mental note to wear protective head gear before I go striking at a random boobie again. Astronomy is interesting, but I prefer to witness it with my eyes open and without my ear swelling to thrice its normal size.

I think to myself "OK, maybe this isn't a far flung fantasy". If it were a simple dream her breasts would be spouting high octane vodka and her lady parts would shoot out chicken fried steaks on demand, kind of like a duck laying an egg. Except there would be far less feathers involved and only a minimal of quacking.

Pity.

I'd already imagined taking her on the county fair circuit, lighting her tits on fire like gas lights so she looked like an avenging arch angel and having customers place a plate between her legs to receive a chicken fried steak. A living, breathing, flaming vending machine that expelled vittles from it's cooter. A man could make a fortune with a gimmick like that as long as he didn't get arrested for lighting a naked woman on fire at a county fair. Something tells me deep inside that might be frowned upon in most places.

Unless it's in the deep south and the woman is black. I hear tell that's actually the highlight of some fairs....they give a Bic lighter to the wee ones and for a quarter each they play a rousing game of "Light the Nigger on Fire."

Anyways, we each have our own individual ideals about the perfect mate, mine just happens to have vodka filled boobies and expels chicken fried steaks. Don't judge me.

But I digress...