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SHADOWS OF THE DARK MOON
The night sky weeps in bitter sorrow as I part the long-closed curtains of time.
I peer through, seeing, demons creep from their beds of thorns like shadows of the dark moon with yellow eyes gleaming hatefully.
Dawn stains the eastern sky and the demons change before my eyes; patterned dark fur races to cover their sleek black skin, long claws retract and paws lower to the earth. Harmless now, they skitter to and fro, keeping to the dry places, in search of rest.
My friend and I chase the demons into the trees, capturing those who fail to climb beyond our reach, baptizing them in the icy stream that runs nearby.
Tired from the morning's pursuit, we rest in the fort we built next to the demons' home.
A shadow flits by.
My faithful friend raises lids heavy with sleep.
He's up in seconds, a low growl in his throat. We rush to the edge of the thorns, hoping again to thwart the devils, but their white striped cousin bounds out of the thorns, its tail held high as it showers us with its vile stench.
The demons croon with laughter as my friend and I are forced to wash in the icy waters of irony.
Nighttime sends us safely to our beds, but hours past midnight, we are awoken by yowls of joy coming from the road. Fearing the demons have cornered a new victim, my fearless friend rushes from the house and I follow reluctantly, my heart pounding in fear. I hear a roar as I crest the nearby hill, but a blinding light halts my steps.
A solitary yelp freezes my marrow.
Before me a trail of smoke lifts to reveal my friend's still and broken body.
My heart sinks with sorrow.
Tears roll from my eyes.
Grief stricken, and afraid, I linger at my friend's side until dawn then I carry his cold, stiff body back to our fort.
Rain falls like tears as I force a shovel deep into the earth. At first, I dig slowly with purpose, but grief and anger gives power to my efforts. Before I realize it, I have a grave, deep enough to be my own.
I dig on in fury, until my shovel jams against a buried rock. The handle splinters in my hand, leaving a deep gash. Ignoring the pain, I throw the broken shovel out of the hole and fall to my knees, weeping in biter anguish.
Time passes. My hair is soaked. My cheeks are red and burn with the cold of the day. I climb out of the grave and wrap a small black spaniel in a blanket from his bed. As I retrieve the broken tool to bury my friend, I see the scene around me melt with change.
The stout walls of our fort becomes a rusted old Buick. Warped plywood forms the upper deck with an old wringer washing machine as the turret where we watched feral cats, not demons, dart in and out of the thorny berry vines along the banks of the irrigation ditch by my house.
After covering my best friend's grave, I look up to see an old man peering through the curtains of time.
A hole opens in my heart, loosing the pain I'd locked deep in my soul for years untold. I stare at my reflection in the rain-speckled window, wondering which I missed more, Blacky, the best friend of my youth, or the world of imagination I knew while he was alive.
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Honey Wheat Rolls
1 ¼ cup warm water
2 ½ tsp yeast
2 tbsp sugar
1/3 cup oil
3 cups all purpose flour
1 cup honey wheat pancake mix or whole wheat bisquick
¼ cup cracked wheat kernels
¼ cup honey
1 tsp salt
I put the above ingredients into a bread machine in the order they are listed but you can mix them together and knead the dough then let it rise to double.
Take out of bread machine and knead until all the air is out... then shape into rolls about the size of golf balls and put in pan... I make an egg wash by beating 1 egg white with ¼ cup of water and then brush on the rolls before they rise....when they double in size bake at 350 for 10 min. then brush egg wash on again bake another 8 -15 minutes or until golden brown...
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