Category Archives: WWoB

A Beautiful Wounds Sampler

Open Gallery for Reviewers

Bretz 1923 map, with Joan & Gil insert
Canyon sunrise, Drumheller Channels
Falls below Judith Pool, Potholes Coulee
Moose munching on red-twig dogwood, Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge
Migrating Tundra Swans on a scabland lake
Heart of Dry Coulee
Elephant Mountain basalt palisade, Drumheller Channels
Western Meadowlark
The Feathers in February
Young mule deer buck in the frost
Ice age flood cobbles in the Spokane River
Bretz hill and scabland terrain, Lincoln County

War’s Hidden Wound

Statement of a Nez Perce Warrior
On War’s Hidden Wound

They said that I would be changed in my body. I would move through the physical world in a different manner. I would hold myself in a different posture. I would have pains where there was no blood. I would react to sights, sounds, movement and touch in a crazy way, as though I were back in War.

They said I would be wounded in my thoughts. I would forget how to trust and think that others were trying to harm me. I would see danger in the kindness and concern of my relatives and others. Most of all, I would not be able to think in a reasonable manner and it would seem that everyone else was crazy. They told me that it would appear to me that I was alone and lost even in the midst of the people, that there was no one else like me.

They warned me that it would be as though my emotions were locked up and that I would be cold in my heart and not remember the ways of caring for others. While I might give soft meat or blankets to the elders or food to the children, I would be unable to feel the goodness of these actions. I would do these things out of habit and not from caring. They predicted that I would be ruled by dark anger and that I might do harm to others without plan or intention.

They knew that my Spirit would be wounded. They said I would be lonely and that I would find no comfort in family, friends, elders or spirits. I would be cut off from both beauty and pain. My dreams and visions would be dark and frightening. My days and nights would be filled with searching and not finding. I would be unable to find the connections between myself and the rest of creation. I would look forward to an early death. And, I would need Healing in all of these things.

Alpenglow

From the story When Murray Met Helen

The green tea did not silence Helen’s headache, though it did at least dull the irritation settling into her throat.

Just before the sun set, the low clouds dissipated just enough to create a seam in the southwestern part of the sky. A shaft of light seeped through. With a glance toward her bedroom window she could see a pink-orangish glow outside.

Alpenglow? In Milwaukee?

It was one of those things you had to see to believe. But there it was, the peach light reflecting off the snow on the ground, the branches, and the quilt of dry flakes that had piled up on the awnings, inching over the sides.

From her window Helen looked into what used to be Murray’s backyard and noticed the snow-blanketed outlines of the picnic table where so much laughter and banter and wisdom had passed between them. The snow on top sparkled. It sparkled mango, and then plum, and then bluish-purple, as the turning earth fleetingly captured what was left of the sun. It was a sight so tranquil and ethereal, and then in a matter of seconds it was gone. It left her wondering if anybody would believe her description of it.

At that very picnic table, now a dull form in the gloaming, she once asked Murray if he thought she would make a good mother.

“Do you want to be a mother?” he’d replied.

“Some days,” she’d said.

“And what days would those be?” he asked.

“Not Mondays,” she replied with a laugh. “Especially not Mondays.”

“Oh, I think you’d make a very good mother,” Murray said softly, after thinking hard on it for a few moments.

“I’ll probably need a man then,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

“Possibly,” Murray said. “But I wouldn’t fret over that too much now. You gotta get this Monday thing straightened out first.”

branch in water footer

Echinacea

From the story When Murray Met Helen

Helen was so moved by the faded photograph of Murray and Claire, and Claire’s resemblance to Helen in her childhood, that she could go no further into the collection. After staring at the picture for another half-minute she gently placed the album on top of the weathered leather jacket in the crate, pulled the string to turn out the light, and left the room.

The cold she was fighting had moved more deeply into her sinuses and though it had the effect of quieting her brain and dulling her senses, she was also keenly aware that the revelation of this softly kept secret in her relationship with Murray was colored with poignancy and grace. It was also a bit mind-reeling.

She walked upstairs, set water on the stove to make tea, and then leaned against the sink, staring at the cinnamon tiles on her kitchen floor. It had started to snow again, the late afternoon sky a grayish-yellow. But she only noticed the dull pallor of the light coming in the window behind her.

Before the kettle whistled, the phone rang. She could see by the caller ID that it was Rick. She thought for two rings about not answering it, but she missed him just enough to change her mind.

“Hello?”

“Helen?”

“Hi Rick.”

“How you doin’?”

“Gotta cold.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“‘Cause I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“Well, maybe you’re a carrier.”

“Naw, that couldn’t be it.”

“That’s right,” she suddenly agreed. “I didn’t let you get close enough to kiss me the other night.”

“Eh.” he said, “lucky me.”

“What’s up?”

“Was wondering if I could”—and here he changed inflections, to pose the last two words in the form of a question–“come over?”

The kettle whistled. Saved by the bell, she thought. But the moments it took to remove it from the burner had given her enough time to think.

“Well,” she said. “Three things.”

“Just three?” he asked, playfully.

“Well, at least three,” she continued. “First, you’re a dear and I’m sorry about what happened the other night. Second, I’m not feeling very attractive right now and when I’m not feeling pretty, I get a little bitchy. And, third, I think I really need to sleep.”

Rick was speechless for a few moments as he absorbed this direct and unusual declination.

“Yeah, well, I really don’t want to see you if you’re not feeling pretty,” he deadpanned.

She giggled.

“Thank you for making me laugh,” she said.

“What are you taking?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Green tea and echinacea.”

“Oooooh,” Rick replied, “I was just reading in Time where the new studies show echinacea’s a canard.”

Helen let that sit for a second, as she decided what club she’d use to smack him with.

“It works for me,” she said, in a tone that was purposefully ambiguous as to whether she was being playful, or just sending the message that this was not the time to trifle with Helen.

“Ah,” Rick said, wisely seizing the latter interpretation. “Now that’s a good data point.”

“The tea works too,” she added, as she tried, on her end, to make sure he didn’t hear her giggle.branch in water footer