Top_Heavy's World

The silence would have been deafening if not for that underlying sound. Not quite a ring, nor a hum, the sound was a constant... a continuous high pitched whine. Once experienced, the sound is never forgotten. Once endured, the sound adds depth, breadth and dimension to the understanding of actual infinity. I have often wondered what He was thinking as he created man kind. There was so much to do, to think through, to know, in order to create something so complex. The very concept is overwhelming, awe inspiring... He created so much in such a short amount of time. A place with out limits we can grasp, a world with size we can't imagine how to measure, a world with a number of mosquitos so large that they couln't be measured in numbers, but in METRIC TONS!

I sat listening, my first love curled next to me. Her breathing slow, her movements few, but she was there. We had worked for hours to get to this place of noise and serenity. The effort to bring this entire load, to the perfect location, left me sore and tired. The sweat had long since dried, leaving a raw feeling along my hat band. I had packed nourishment, but dare not move, not reach for a drink that lay so close, for fear of waking her. Her beauty of calm was only matched by the beauty she possesed in action. A motion so pure, so endless, so strong. I let it be calm, there in the darkness of our marsh. That pulchritudinous life, a life that was shared with a small, young and almost insignificant boy. Those years that were given to me so lovingly, even when I didn't deserve. That soul... teaching me, even now, as a grown man. I sat, with her shoulder against my thigh, until the sound was no more. I awoke to her touch, light whiskers on my cheek. Her warm breath a welcome kiss, on this cool morn. She had long since learned I didn't like to be licked, she just nuzzled me, putting her space into mine. She needed to stretch, to do her "ladies business", but wanted to be sure I knew where she was. She never wanted me to worry, as I would, if I woke and she was gone. I rubbed her ears, she rolled her face to my chest and playfully moaned. "OK Girl, you can go" With that she carefully climbed to the blind and proceeded to a spot of her liking.

I sat up and looked over the sight we had worked so hard for. The moon, still in the sky, was mirrored in the dead calm water. Occasionally a small fish would come to the surface, inspiring delicate ripples, creating movement on the moon. A muskrat or perhaps an otter swam carefully on the far edge of the decoys, a line of waves growing ever wider as they distanced from the head. There was movement, I strained to make it out. A heron, steady and quiet, walked carefully between the arrowhead leaves that surrounded our pool. The stealth of such a hunter easily admired by a boy in a boat. The feet rose, held, then effortlessly reentered the watery world with out the slightest sign. The long beak poised for anyting that might make a meal. He was gangly, ackward almost, as though his body wasn't built for the job about to be performed, he rose, that boy that was me, stiff and foolish, clumbsy in comparison to another of God's creatures. As I became more than a stump sticking above the still, dark mist that was the marsh, my heron parted it's wings and lifted for parts less crowded.

We were together again, my friend and I. She sat patiently as I started the stove, soon the smell of bacon and the sound of eggs popping in hot grease filled the air. The yellows still runny, the edges crisp... eggs in the marsh are always perfect. I piled the potatoes, thin sliced and golden on her plate first. Always the lady she just licked her nose in eager anticipation. Her white teeth showing brightly against the blackness that made up her shape. Next went the eggs, still hot, but done... bacon, not just the crumbles, but full pieces as well. 2 pieces of bread, toasted but dry, were put to the side, where I smothered them with bacon grease. I had long since learned what she liked best. Mornings so plentiful, most can't understand. So many mornings together... I long for one more. I slid her plate, "It's still hot", she held back, knowing exactly what I said. I loaded my plate, similar to hers, a little less food for a boy worried about his companion. She would be doing the work today, the real work. We ate our breakfast then, as the light slowly filled the sky and the world went from black to the beauty of day.

The spread was perfect, each decoy set with thought and purpose. Each decoy so precise, so as to give the next decoy realism as a group. One of those sets you want to duplicate, but even with a picture, will never be quite as good again. She heard them coming, I looked at her and already knew, long before I heard them. My hearing weakened by the ignorance of youth, far too many shots with out protection. The first sounds of birds were audible to me! Branta canadensis maxima, the Giant Canada Goose! The very bird, the very emotion that she was named for. Branta Canadensis Delight... "D". D knew they were coming. I answered their calls with sounds of love, lust and desire. A love of mornings like this, a lust to see D in action, a desire to do things right, to not let her down. I sang to those birds as though I was one of them. I played my flute with passion and joy. The birds returned my excitement with rapid calling of their own. Soon we were not just singing, but dancing as well. A waltz, a back and forth rythm that only a waterfowler can understand. I followed, I led, we lowered our voices and the true romance began. I whispered promises, of safety and friends. I whispered of security and pleasure. They locked long wings, cupping to slow, turning into the slight breeze that gave life to the fakes.

I rose again, no befuddled youth, but a movement of meaning and flow. I rose, my arms outreaching, I leaned forward, face to the stock. The lowest goose almost touching the water. BOOM...BOOM!.. boom....boom.....boom...... The echos sounding down the river bottom as the birds folded. The confused survivors turning as they gained altitude. Their feathers making a swish, swish, swish. I could hear the joints of their wings groaning under the force, they winged away honking to the birds that stayed with us. She was in her element, pure joy, she ran the length of the blind, throwing herself head long into the murky water. She whistles when she is excited, and she whislted now. Reaching the first bird she swam around it. A dog of her petite size needs just the right grip on such a large bird. Finally seeing what she wanted, she gently grasped the neck and worked her trophy to me. Too heavy to lift, too large to push, she turned backwards and drug the massive bird, to that out strethed hand. The scene was replayed, and the hunt was done. We sat together, admiring our work. A limit of geese, a lifetime of memories, our morning was complete.

Her last hunt was special, but that is for another day, now we will just remember our special morning together. One of hundreds, but each, like no other.