My Girls

My Girls

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Mossy ????

Silence.  I have NOT found it to be very golden.   November 2nd was the last time I saw Mossy as she rode away with a herd of buffalo.  Thinking she would "appear" as she so often has, I didn't think much of the silence until it stretched on and on and on...........   Obviously, the return from Yellowstone was without one small gnome.  Was this it?  Mossy appeared one day around three years ago.  Would she disappear as unexpectantly as she had appeared?  These questions as well as a thousand others kept me company in the silence of the shop, in the silence of the house, in the silence of the gently falling leaves.....

I found myself going back to the beginning.......  Wee Thomas jumping from one pumpkin after another, as if they were tiny trampolines.   I was digging through a vast supply of dried safflower, pods, hydrangeas, etc......   Alone, or so I thought.  Admittedly, my eyes were somewhat glazed over from several hours of creating lovelies when I heard the tinkle of a bell.  Drawn to the sound I watched with fascination as a small boy sprang from first a Fairytale pumpkin to a Cinderella, to a Wee-Be-Little, and then to a Baby Boo.  Don't you just love the names of all the varieties of pumpkins?   No sooner would I open my mouth to speak, he would disappear, only to reappear elsewhere.  The first afternoon of this "gnome-spotting" continued in this manner.  If I drew nearer to the Lil Pumpkemons, no appearances.  If I returned to my creating, bells and sightings.  Truly, I regretted the end of this day!!!!  I left whispering of my return.  Surely, I would see him again!!  Memory fails on the exact amount of time, but I do know that Thomas entertained me for sometime before he ever spoke.  Customers would be browsing and suddenly he would appear hanging from their purse or sitting on their shoulder.  His favorite (or so it appeared) would be to ride on the pumpkin arrangements straight to the checkout counter.  How this was done without detection, I have no clue but the pure entertainment value was priceless!  Many a moment, I would duck behind a counter stifling my giggles.  Seriously, customers are not quite sure how to take unexplicable sudden outburst of laughter.    

"You left it on."  These were his first whispered words to me.  He pointed to the glue gun as he spoke them and POOF. 

Oh POOF on me!!!!! Memory lane has just created a rather "well done"  pumpkin loaf!   I shake off the memories as reality needs a few burned edges pinched away.  "Mossy?" I question outloud.   Mossy, would most definitely have a comment or two for my latest culinary feat.   Silence.

I miss my friend.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

where the buffalo roam........

in Yellowstone park, to a complete stop we came.  A huGe herd of HuGe buffalo stood casually on the road.  This was after all, their territory, their park, so move over vehicles!  This is not an everyday occurrence, however for this East Texan.  So, grabbing a camera and rolling down my window, I snapped this pic of one looking straight at me.   "Crooked Horn."  Mossy informed me, was his name.  Mossy came into view riding one of the smaller of the herd.

 Please explain, if you can why any of this would surprise me.  I found myself asking the obvious, "Mossy,  what are you doing?"  She flipped a red curl back and rolled her eyes heavenward.  "Wouldn't you ride a buffalo, if you could?" she retorted.    Well, she had me there.  Seriously, wouldn't you? 

Who, indeed, wouldn't want with the abandon of our Native American ancestors to run with a herd of buffalo?  To know the wildness of an untamed land and to see a vista of which few had viewed?  Yellowstone gives one a glimpse of that possibility.   It fires the imagination in it's rugged beauty.   One can easily picture:  crouched with bow-pulled taut,  a moccasin's-clad fellow at the edge of the treeline.  Before him an elk and his cow.  With nostrils flaring the elk starts as he catches the scent of danger.  The arrow flies, but in a rare occurrence misses its mark.  The two run free as does their hunter.  Free, freedom from so much of what fills our ever-waking moments.  

Slowly, the buffalo move around our car, seeming to pretty much ignore it and it's occupants.  And for a while I moved on with them.  In my mind, Crooked Horn and I rode alongside Mossy and her friend.  We headed down the rolling hill listening to the occasional snort and rumble from the herd.  A crystal clear stream beckoned ahead as it dipped and bubbled over rock.   As Old Faithful could be seen in the distance I wondered if they sought it's warmth in proximity for a night's rest.   With a toss of his head the largest bull  broke into a trot as we grew closer to the stream.  Funny, he didn't drink but stood proudly with his head held high as most of the herd did.   Why, was that a stagecoach splashing through a shallow area of the stream? 

The buffalo is a symbol of a vanished past, a link to a frontier heritage.  However, no romantic notion of such should ever cloud one's view of an animal that still remains wild.  Buffalo at Yellowstone number close to 4000 in the park and can weigh over 2000 tons.  They still can and do inflict injury on any observer who fails to maintain their distance.  So despite my daydream, as Crooked Horn steps toward the car, I lean back and quickly put up my window.  The herd passes on.  But despite, a quick warning from me Mossy continues her journey with them.  Maybe Mossy can tell me where they will rest for the night...............  Now was that a parasol I saw in the window of that stagecoach?

My Girls

My Girls
Snippets of an addle-pated mind and her wee little gnome friend, Mossy.

Wrap up tight in caution tape
and enter with care
for the tales of the two are
quite simply....