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Category: Writing and Poetry
Dear Friends,
First of all, I am once again changing my personal e-mail. If you care, make a note of the following:
cyrano1954@gmail.com
With any luck, this will be more or less permanent.
Next, I pounded out the following story a few days ago. Hope you like it.
Cheers, Dave
Stepping Stone
He was a youngish man, tall, athletic build, and he traveled on foot with a pack on his back. He had just emerged from the woods onto the edge of a wide expanse of meadow, unkempt, with long grass and weeds and dandelions. In the distance, as he looked ahead, he saw the far side of the meadow was bounded by a wood, similar to the one he just passed out of; in the middle distance, the meadow seemed to be cut by a fair-sized creek, or "crick", as he would have called it. Well, he had a ways to go yet before he wanted to stop, so he pushed on to the bank of the creek. Looking this way and that, not wanting to wade across unless it became absolutely necessary, he spotted, a few yards off, a most welcome sight: a row of stepping stones. Perfect.
There were five smooth-topped stones, obviously put in place for the purpose; as he prepared to cross, he noted that, for one thing, the creek was a bit bigger than he had thought, nearly a river. Also, the stones, for the most part, were placed within easy reach of one another by someone with legs like his. The third stone, in the middle, was set off from its fellows by a wider margin; he had no doubt, however, that crossing would offer only minor inconvenience and soon he would be on his way. The over-cast sky was bright, and it seemed to be about mid-day.
Having made the first and second steps easily, he paused to examine the third stone, which stood a bit higher than the others, and was larger. Again, the gap from second to third, and from third to forth, was significantly broader than the first two. He was going to have to plan his attack well if he didn't fancy the rest of the day's journey soaked to the skin, and he didn't.
The outdoor life he had been leading had taught him a healthy respect for distances, and for deceptively stable-looking stepping stones; he took his time measuring with his eyes, picturing in his mind's eye the various approaches and their outcomes, many of which did seem to favor an impromptu swim. Many minutes went by before he felt confident enough to attempt the leap, for leap he must to clear the distance.
It was going to be tricky, but he had, he believed, the agility to pull it off. He would spring forward, his right boot leading the way. As his toe contacted the lip of the rock, while the bulk of his weight was still in mid-air, he would twist his body to the left, pivoting on the toe of his right boot, and bringing his left leg around behind, so that when he put his weight on the right foot, it would come down with the heel on stone rather than hanging out over the water. Then he would be able to steady himself with his left foot, which would by then also be on the rock behind the right foot. He was glad there was no audience; this would look ungainly, to say the least. But he would look even sillier if he fell in.
He went over the procedure again in his mind. The spring, right toe just making the edge of the rock, twist and pivot, and down. By twisting his shoulders first, he could take advantage of the weight of the pack on his back. Its momentum would assist in pulling his body around over the stone, making it easier to plant his left foot firmly on the rock. Obviously, he was going to have to do something similar to get from the center stone to the fourth stone, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He let it out, and took another. He sprang.
The little successes we accumulate as we pass through life are like stars in the night sky; they come few and far apart; it is only our perspective that makes them appear as close together as bees in a swarm. The eye of memory simply doesn't take into account the weeks and months, or even years, of boredom and routine that separate these shining moments of happiness, of satisfaction, of relief at not having fared as badly as we had feared. The plan came together, very nearly perfectly. Very nearly.
As he felt the lip of stone under his right toe, he swung his shoulders, and the pack between them, to the left. Exactly as he had imagined, his foot pivoted, bringing his right heel over the rock. His foot now firmly placed, he brought his left leg around behind, and began to steady himself with both feet on the stone.
Two things he had miscalculated. The first was the momentum provided by his pack. He had intended to simply turn his body to the left, bringing his right heel into position over the stone. In reality, he turned much further than he had intended. The other was simply a matter of balance. The twist of the shoulders and upper body with his eyes still closed momentarily disoriented him, and he had to take a few staggering steps before he felt out of danger of tipping himself into the water. As soon as he was able, he sat down on the rock and his first breaths were quick panting gasps. When his head cleared and he looked about him, he gasped again.
How far he had turned, he could not tell. The line of the creek through the meadow went off at an improbable angle in both directions. He was sitting on a wide, flat table-topped rock in the middle of a creek, between two halves of a broad, overgrown meadow that nestled between two very similar forests, and for the life of him he could not guess from which way he had come, nor which direction he must go from here. How he resolved this dilemma I've never been able to discover.
Copyright © October, 2009
David L Henderson
8:49 AM
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