Prairie Flyer – Part VII
“Wreckage of a small bi-plane was discovered today
strewn ‘cross a field over Ogallala way
in what appears to be a weather-related mishap,”
the radio blared out through the static flap
making it hard to distinguish the details.
The venison stew was steaming in bowls on the bar top
as Harley reached for the crackers, that he proceeded to drop
hitting them on the cupboard door then groaning as he picked them up
as I headed toward the window to the sound of a wolf pup
but it was nothing but the billy goat sounding like one.
“Searchers at the crash site, up in Nebraska, say a yellow plane
hit a windmill, presumably in the driving snow, that came
out of nowhere to surprise everyone in the region yesterday,”
the KCMO station continued to report as Harley and I made our way
to the counter bar and the great smelling stew.
“The fatality is Catherine “Star” Lovecampe from Oswego, Ohio,”
the broadcast continued through the static as it gave her part-bio
as we both sat in silence…. listening the best we could
to the little white Philco radio that looked like it had hit the floor’s wood
many times and was just trying to hang on.
In our shock we reminisced the brief moments we shared with her
and how her ‘freshness’ illuminated the room and belied the temperature
of the outside briskness and how nice it was to see a woman flyer
light down on this little airstrip with gusto that was like a trip wire
that mesmerized the both of us in a very enchanting way.
Her brief appearance, in our lives, served notice to us both
about space and time and how important sharing is…. in the growth
of our life cycles that are different when we’re alone
and Harley set a bowl for Star on the counter, by his own,
and we talked how she would’ve loved that stew….and we felt better.
© t. j. gargano 2013
Prairie Flyer – VI
By morning, Kansas’ sunflowers were barely peeking through the snow
and a hearty Kansas’ blackbird, bigger than a carrion crow,
was finding it tough to find some food….waddling close by Harley’s goat,
that Harley had let out about 4:30 ‘cause I heard him clear his throat
as he tussled with the stuck door.
“Looks like I’m here a while,” I said to Harley’s back
who nodded and smiled and took up the bacon and put it on a rack
and poured me more coffee…”Glad to have you here, Jake.
How do you want those eggs? I’ve got some biscuits ready to bake..
Has the radio said much about the storm?”
“They say it hit from Utah to the Cumberland Plateau;
a lot of outages and people stranded, as far as they know,”
I told him as we tightened our boots, getting ready to go outside
to gas up the John Deere plow……to push some snow aside,
that is…. after eating our eggs and drinking another cup.
By late afternoon, Harley’s airstrip was done
and Sarah Jane was now ready for the gatling gun
that I would re-mount before leaving for the trip back home
in the morning if it wasn’t windy, I thought, as my comb
stung my head…. sticking in the matted hair.
The shower made me sleepy and I was afraid that if I sat,
the searing heat from the fireplace would see to it…. that….
I would fall asleep too soon and Harley would let me sleep
and his venison stew was smelling good so I got a broom to sweep
and it was then that we heard the first report.
(continued – Prairie Flyer – VII
Prairie Flyer – Part III
Harley turns sharply, downs the towel, grabs his beer
saying ‘Hi’ to the lady in his jovial ‘gear’
and. I, too, have risen….”hi, I’m Jake.” I say
as we grab for her jacket in a dizzying way
and she smiles….illuminating all the room.
Now Harley, being Harley, with his humor, sometimes crude,
in a smile says ‘nice boots’ and I look for a changing mood
but she thanks him graciously and continues to scan the room
and joins me at the counter bar as Harley grabs a broom
and she could hold the thought no more, “Are the beans done yet?”
“Almost, ma’am, maybe a stir or two,” Harley quips,
“Where ya headed?’ he asks, bringing the beer to his lips.
“I’m headed over Ogallala way, up in Keith County,
for one last show before winter….a show for Elga Browney.
Do you know her, Harley?”
“I’ve heard the name,” Harley says, sitting the beer on the bar.
Then leaving for the girls’ room, she says.…”by the way, my name is Star.”
as I remember, now, the star on her scarf, caught against the wing
that almost got away from her…. before the final fling
from the wind…. that returned it to her arms.
(continue Prairie Flyer – Part IV