All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.
POUNDING STONE NEAR CAMPGROUND
Hurling a pine cone at my brother,
I reeled through brittle needles to hide
behind a large stone at the edge
of the forest: I was the cowboy,
and he was the Indian. As I jumped up
to fling a pebble, I glimpsed smooth cups
in the stone, a few of which brimmed with humus.
“Stop!” I screeched as my brother
pelted me with pine cones. “You’re
dead! Told you, I'm the cowboy!"
he shouted. Dizzy, I felt like I
was going to fall into some other life.
“Boys!” Dad shouted from the campground
to return me from some other time, “Let's all
go to the lake!” But I didn’t move
from the stone at the edge of the forest.
Finally, Dad ambled over. “What
is this?” I demanded. “Mud people
lived here,” he sneered. “Let’s go!”
“Where are the mud people? Where
did they go?” I wondered, but Dad
didn’t answer. For a moment I
was afraid, as he strode farther
and farther ahead of me, that I
might be one of the mud people,
and I froze, alone
between the strange stone
and the tiny boat by the shore.
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