Dymitry

                                           

                                                                                  DYMITRY

     

     Dymitry was sullen when I arrived. I never knew how I would find him when I pulled up to the stables for a much needed ride by myself through the hidden paradise of West Marin. Some days he was laughing, almost giggling, some days cold and indifferent, others intense, very intense. I liked him but I was blind as bat as to what was going on. I just smiled, made small talk and gratefully took the reins of the horse he gave me, always the best in the stable no matter what his mood.

     When he led a horse out to me that day, he stared deep into my eyes. Anger flashed across his face as I smiled vacuously back. The day was cool but sweat appeared around the neck and armpits of his tee shirt. He looked at the horse. His fingers splayed as he swept his hand along its flank. Then his eyes slowly swung back to mine that were riveted to his hand on the horse. He smiled sadly, shook his head, turned the horse around and led him back. I stood confused, unable to pry my mind from the image of his thick fingers massaging the horse’s skin. 
     He reappeared with a beautiful Palomino I had never seen before. The Palomino shook his mane, proudly lifting his head to the drifting fog above us. Dymitry had a wicked smile on his face as he handed me the reins. He turned on his heels and slid off his tee shirt. As he disappeared into the stables, his broad back glistened with sweat that ran down his spine and pooled at his belt pulled tightly to his jeans.

     The horse was a joy, prancing like a Lipizzaner through the tall summer grass in the fields leading up to the ridge. I was delighted and repeatedly reached down to his neck to stroke his shimmering mane. I felt we shared a mutual affection when he raised his muzzle and glanced back at me more than once. His trot was gentle and I felt almost lifted as I posted along with him, but when we reached the foot of the ridge, he came to a sudden stop and looked up at the trail snaking sharply into the trees. I let him stand then gave him a gentle prod with my knees. He shook himself. I tossed the reins on this neck and he lurched forward. He was mulish on the way up the mountain, jerking and halting before grudgingly carrying on. The honeymoon was over. At the summit he was skittish and I was through with him. He had made his point and when I turned him back, I expected a quick trot back down the trail but on the way down, he stopped and wouldn’t move. I clapped my knees into him with no result. I tapped my heels in his flanks then kicked them but he only snorted and shook his head. I went from disappointment to anger. I unbuckled my belt, whipped it free and gave him a good slap. He took off like a rocket and put a new meaning to the word switchback. He galloped back and forth down the twisting trail but I was too busy trying to stay in the saddle to be afraid. I hunkered down and rolled from side to side in counter balance. When the horse hit the chaparral, he let go with a full raging gallop, gnashing his teeth trying to get the bit in his jaws and have done with me. I seesawed the bit back and forth with my belt still gripped in my fist and my knees clinging to his flanks with all my strength. He suddenly bucked then reared. My knees held as I lunged forward to throw my arms around his neck.  He rose up on his forelegs and kicked both back hooves in the air. He bounced and shook but with my stability now in my arms and the bit still in his cheeks, there was nothing he could do. I let go of his neck, pushed myself up with the pommel and I gave him a vicious kick that launched him into a fury. He raced all out and I was with him. We tore across the fields egging each other on in glorious abandon until I noticed an ancient valley oak towering proudly by itself growing larger and larger as we rushed towards it. I saw  a great, low hanging limb jutting from its side. I saw it was the horse's target and just the right height for only one of us to slip under.  I knew I would break my neck if I rolled off him at that speed. I knew I was going to hit that limb. I knew it was too late to do anything about it. I knew as we galloped straight at what could very well be the end of me that I was having the thrill of my life. Everything switched to slow motion. And then our two battles became one. Our two bodies joined. I let loose my grip on the bit and let him take it. I kicked him and kicked him driving him faster and faster. I stood high in the stirrups and raised one arm over my head with my belt flailing in the air. Thousands of pounds of oak roared at me. I let loose a scream from the pit of my being, ducked my head, rolled forward and hit it with my shoulder. It released a throbbing groan, gave way and crumbled, crashing around us and exploding into a cloud of timber and dust that completely startled the horse. I had him now. My eyes were wild with victory. I yanked the bit out of his teeth and into the corner of his mouth with both hands and pulled hard. All he could do was circle and circle himself into exhaustion. I began to breathe again. I was alive. I wasn’t angry at the horse. I was filled with respect for him.  I looked up at the horizon with an adrenaline fueled grin to see Dymitry galloping toward me.

     There was delight in his eyes. They bored into me.  He pulled his horse next to mine and circled with me. His mustache glistened in the sun. Sweat streamed down his face. "You had a lesson!"

     "I did!", I smiled, mopping the sweat from my forehead.

     "You did well!" He leaned out of his saddle and threw an arm around my shoulders. “You are a horseman!”

     I leaned out of mine. "I am!"
   
     He kissed me.
    

    

copyright 2014

Richard Talbot Hill

HAIR OF THE DOG

                                                           
                                                           HAIR OF THE DOG

Ina Baby,
The next mornin’, a nip o’ the hair o’ the dog  pulls me together an’ I decide to face the day. I thought I oughta check on Rick on account of I couldn’t remember how he got home or me neither as a matter o’ fact.  After some knockin’ on Rick’s door fer some time, a gorgeous babe answers. I walks in an’ seein’ Rick on the other side o’ the room with a nip o’ his own in his hand, I says, Rick, I don’t remember this Goddess anywhere near us two bums last night. Did ya decide to switch sides o’ the fence when I wasn’t lookin’? to which he replies, Buck, this is Nancy. Don’t get any ideas ‘cause she is a patron o’ mine as is her husband. Please to meet ya, Doll, says I. It is my sad misfortune that you are already spoken for. Ya might not know it at first glance but I am always sooner than later found to be irresistible to pretty much all members o’ the fair sex an’ was ya not otherwise affianced, it is my opinion that you an’ I would become very familiar with each other. Rick then puts his arm around my shoulder an’ leads me to the other side o’ the room in front of a big paintin' o' the desert. Buck, says he, Nancy here is admirin’ this landscape. I looks up at the picture an’ says, that’s a good thing, Rick. I bet she ain’t spent two seconds lookin’ at that crazy fuckin’ “Last Supper” o’ yers an’ why would she? That is the work of a very sick man. Then I hear Nancy laughin’ behind us. Buck, says she, I am always glad to meet someone so charmin’, articulate an’ full of self confidence but I am here to look at art, not handsome men. I will consider the landscape, Rick. An’ with that, she turns on her heels, blows us a kiss an’ waltzes her derriere out the door. With my eyes glued to her breathtakin’ backside, I says, Rick, if ya stop paintin’ monkeys burnin’ in hell and start paintin’ that, yer  troubles’d be history.
Muchos Besos,
Buck
July 2013

THE WORD OF GOD

THE WORD OF GOD

The bible says love is between a man and a woman.

The bible? What is that?

The bible is the word of God.

And what is God?

The supreme being, the creator of the world and all that is, ever was and ever will be.

Who told you this?

The bible says it’s so.

What is this bible?

A book.

A book?

A book written by the prophets who have heard the word of God.

How do you know they have heard the word of this God?

They have confessed it.

So they just said they did?

They have confessed it.

 How do you know they are telling the truth?

 Because the Bible says it is so.

But you said they wrote it.

God wrote it.

And they were his secretaries.

They are his prophets.

And when did they record the word of God?

Between two thousand and four thousand years ago.

What language is this book written in?

 All the modern languages.

And before that?

Ancient Hebrew, ancient Greek, Arameic, Latin.

So you live your life in strict accordance to rules written in a book thousands of years ago?

Yes.

Rules translated into many languages over thousands of years?

Yes.

And you demand that everyone else live by these rules?

Yes.
You are a lunatic.