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Show Page 7 THE MOUNTAIN FLOWER Last Night I Dreamed Of Coyote ... January 20. ... Or Did Coyote Dream Of Me? mm By KAYO ROBERTSON The last click of the door, accompanied by the monotonously familiar word of Mr. Edgar ("See you tomorrow, John.) only increased the pain of the birth of a spirit of life struggling to demand recognition from a body and mind long lifeless with misuse. Narrow tubular lights buzzed, throwing a flickering shadow on d an ash try full of filtertips and setting a cup of cold coffee to shimmering in a stale glow. Row after row half-smoke- of tiny figures gazed demandingly through the eye exhausting sheen of white tally sheets, rooting themselves deeply'in John Seedmans throbbing skull. John pushed back on his chair, removed his glasses and pinched the oily bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He sighed and again leaned forward. In a burst of energy a pen rapidly jotted down a row of seven column figures, deft and practiced fingers danced on the adding machine, the last tally was placed and the books closed. John slumped over, guts qqivering nervously, his cheek feverish and sweaty against the metallic coldness of the desk top. 'Tm sick, he murmured as he pressed his fingers to his eyes.' Small yellow globes danced slowly upward on the inside of his eyelids, random at first but then curving inward, slowly drifting and spiraling upward and out of sight. The yellow drifted into red, the red to blues and greens, larger and larger, faster and faster, from blue to violet, growing and growing, faster and faster, a huge spiraling nebula that soon encompassed the entirety of Johns universe. Forms and images began to superim 1973 QY pose themselves against the swirling mass: the fired and well worn lecture of an anonymous blue uniformed traffic cop admonishing him to slow down and save his life and maybe someone elses; the heavy sicky sweet smell of perfume from the office secretary, her breasts lifted to high points by some ill concealed harness . beneath a cashmere sweater; a flurry of bills, forms and wedding announcemen- ts; the voice of his wife, tired with a plaining edge to it, greeting him with tales of clogged drains, broken dishwashers and Sallys grade in social studies all backed by the moaning and fighting of the kids, the goddamn spoiled rotten kids. . .and another on its way. Beads of sweat appeared, ran together and dripped from his forehead as the ever whirling spiral spun oh and on, faster and faster, until with an almost animal roar John threw his hands in the air and com- violently brought his fists crashing against the desk top. Tears, the first hed cried in years, trickled from the comers of his eyes to form a small salty pool on his desk top. The violent spiral spun on and on, farther and farther into space, smaller and smaller until there was left just the stillness, yet a living stillness, like the stillness of a cool early morning wind through the streets of a still sleeping cty. A cleansing night stillness lifting the exhaust and asphalt stench, the dirt and litter left from an overworked day, gently cooling, soothing and healing. Johns breathing began to slow and resonate to the stillness until just the wind was left. And then it too, silently, blew away. In the morning a twilight netherworld preceded the sun, always had preceded the sun. Forms and images began to shape themselves and finally the colors. The dawn chill overwhelmed and com- - manded the senses of smell and touch. Huge curved clouds hung over the distant peaks, rounding and softening the jagged surfaces. Steam rose from the lake all for a moment and all was quiet calls that is except the twitterings and of obscure birds which served to accentuate and emphasize the fullness of the silence. John always awoke early and took a distanct pleasure in watching, through n his tranquil, but alert eyes, the drama of sunrise play itself out in its infinitude of manifestations. Beside him his woman breathed gently. Her warm soft body lay full length against his and filled him with a fullness that was almost unbearably pleasant. She was with child and soon the changes would come. It was always like this in the spring: a time of warmth and changes. Johnj although not old, had seen a few seasons and knew about the changes knew that for all the changes things still remained one and beautiful. As a child half-ope- and young man he was sometimes anxious. But he had watched and wandered, eaten and slept. And he had seen.. . The sunlight gradually began to drift up along the edge of the clud bank, outlining the soft mass with a glow that blinded the eyes. John arched his back and stretched his forelegs, spreading his pads wide apart. He could feel his sinewy muscles ripple, pop and relax. With a roll of his head, he touched his nose to the cool muzzle of his woman and gently licked her eyelids. Slowly she awoke and gazed deeply into the greyness of his eyes. With a shake, both arose and quietly trotted along the sand beach of the lake. As their forms merged with the distant landscape, the sun rose over the clouds and a slight wind rustled the tips of the taller firs. |