Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild
Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild
The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing Arden Angley Painter It is my sister’s 19th birthday; we are going to our cousin’s farm. We’re blowing down highway #10. Turning off left about a half kilometer past Woseley on our way down to the Qu’Appelle Valley. The land is littered with stationary cows that seem intentionally set up for the perfect prairie picture. Our city van desperately scrapes along the frozen back road. I look up from my lap just as we pass Elisboro. A hamlet of six people, four of whom are staring at us trying to spot the idiot family inside. I blink and press my hands to my eyes for a moment. I forgot how long I had been battling to keep my eyes open against the enormous weight of light. I open them again. The sky’s lid is the stirred blue you’d find on homemade pottery, descending into a frayed grey around the edges, and somewhere in the middle it’s cracked by the sun screaming out like an open wound over the winter wheat and the stubble of summers shadow. The roads climbing the hill curve in and swoop out lulling the countryside into unconsciousness. A painter lives at the very top of the Qu’Appelle Valley. Her house looks over the plateau of toast and butter land. In every season she paints a picture of where she lives. My eyes are sewn to the house as our van pulls past waiting for it to move, or breathe, or wink. Anything to show some life. My legs are bent underneath my weight and my cheek is hugging the back of the seat where my head should sit, transfixed on her house watching it through the back window get smaller and smaller. My sister is sleeping. My dad and I are ignoring the silence. When my mother and father divorced I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t ask why or how could you do this to me. I just wondered why it had taken so long. Mom moved away immediately, to a house out here. She quit her job and paid for a few acrylic and oil painting classes. When her license expired she didn’t drive in anymore. She met a new man who bought her paints and groceries. They live together. I don’t know his name. They do not own a phone. My mom lives to paint her neighbourhood. The cows never move and all the bales stay put. She sells every piece of artwork. Each of her paintings is the same and yet customers buy them and hang them in their houses in an attempt to bring the outdoors in. To surround themselves in nature. To bask in pictures of valleys. My dad has to take care of my sister and me. Somewhere along the way he lost his temper. We are both sitting in the back seat. We roll up to our cousin’s house and unload. My dad hollers for one of us to bring in the cake. I step out and roll the door shut. The shadows of the moving clouds stumble on the still life down here. I look up at the clouds tumbling in, furrowing their brows at each other. Disappointed at all the dead life below. windScript 34 volume 24
The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing Ferocious sidestreet puddles They think they’re so s l y with their Water flirting wetness and perhaps their ability to Suck you in (oh how vulnerable you are) Hayley Muench Water Flirting They’re not so tough (you can see right through them) quite shallow, such a dreary personality, really. And I hate to be the one to tell you this but they won’t call you back after your waterendezvous What sorry excuses for melted snow dirty winter leftovers, only good for dampening spirits & April shoes. Avoid their splash-antics and mucking around they’ll tell you anything you want to hear. Those pitiful puddles and their rain-cloud talk Portraying my dress print as I carefully peer (from a d i s t a n c e … ) Nottooclose . . . they’re much too deceiving. I never liked spring anyway. 35 windScript volume 24
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The Magazine of <strong>Saskatchewan</strong> High School Writing<br />
Ferocious sidestreet puddles<br />
They think they’re so s l y with their<br />
Water flirting wetness and perhaps their ability to<br />
Suck you in<br />
(oh how vulnerable you are)<br />
Hayley Muench<br />
Water Flirting<br />
They’re not so tough (you can see right through them)<br />
quite shallow, such a dreary personality, really.<br />
And<br />
I hate to be the one to tell you this but<br />
they won’t call you back after your waterendezvous<br />
What sorry excuses for melted snow<br />
dirty winter leftovers, only good for<br />
dampening spirits & April shoes.<br />
Avoid their splash-antics and mucking around<br />
they’ll tell you anything you want to hear.<br />
Those pitiful puddles and their rain-cloud talk<br />
Portraying my dress print as I carefully peer<br />
(from a d i s t a n c e … )<br />
Nottooclose . . . they’re much too deceiving.<br />
I never liked spring anyway.<br />
35<br />
windScript volume <strong>24</strong>
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