Slingshot

Slingshot

Oh, I wonder why I make the choices I do.

Better than Fortenite, a slingshot.

Surgical rubberband, leather strip, forked branch and you have it.

When you stretch the rubberband twice its length and plug in the lava rock,

a snap is made that vibrates an arc of waves across clean Arizona air.

It’s as nice to hear as a viola or a bass, I wonder if someone has ever recorded it into a song?

Wild boys with their forked sticks take off, far back into a wide-open territory.

Space between juniper trees is filled with long yellow grasses with tails that coil into tight rings in the afternoon, in the morning sun they stretch up into perfect vertical lines.

This morning, our second day in Williams is cloud covered, but warmer than yesterday when the temperature dipped below 37F.

Air is free to breathe and the dust is stuck to the ground.

The sun seems to be hinting its arrival.

We are reptiles soaking in the spattering rays, taking time to move.

I spot a creature in the field with a striped beanie zigzagging towards me.

“Can you start making pancakes?”

One more sip of coffee. Stretch. “Yeah, Let’s go.”