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Terreson Profile
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Indiana Moon


Indiana Moon

There is a gray cat crying outside our door tonight. He is gray all over and his eyes are green. He was born down by the creek that runs into an old storm sewer, and I’ve seen rats down there too, which is probably why he is so fat. We were walking in the early autumn’s sun the first day we saw him. I had just come back to this house behind the trees, and it looked as if love’s return would be so easy. But he came out of the sycamores, crying and curling his toes against the ground. And she softly called him over, she patiently persuaded him closer, until he started his narrowing circle of desire. When she picked him up he scratched at her and jumped. He then began to circle again, circling again, he was a worry.

It was in the way he could look at you through green eyes that seemed to be coldly thinking. Or in the way he pulled back into himself with every step he took while coming towards you sideways. It was in how he was ready to twist himself around and come up scratching, tearing. It was in the way he bit while purring, and in the way he cried as if to say, ‘please free me from this.’

The next time we saw him we gave to him food. We were out in the grass, in the field by the creek. We then began to visit him every day. In the morning while the grass is still wet, or in the afternoon when the sun is lowly passing and the sky gains in a polished shell, closing shell blue. We next saw him in our front yard, where he was chasing down squirrels, and soon he was waiting to be fed again. We realized then he had traced our scent. We figured he was claiming our house for his own. And so a little warmth with a hand cupped over his back has become his. And last night, in the rain, we gave him a box with a blanket to sleep in. Tonight, too, as he has come back. But when I changed the bowl, to give him the milk she had warmed for him, he bit at my hand. Breaking the skin, he was breaking love’s charm. He could not help what he knows.

There was another night soon after making the gray cat’s acquaintance. It was before the rains arrived and before the trees were stripped of their colors. We were sitting by the big pane window, and, through the glass, I saw something that was dark and standing. But I had her hands. I had her eyes too, a woman’s fulling eyes. Like buttercups upturned by a summer wind I had her yellow face spilling over me. Then a shadow came over this house and touched her face. It was a shadow darker, quieter than the nights should be while the grass still itches and locusts sing. It was coming through the window from the road’s other side. And it seemed to me I had felt it falling before.

A tall woman was standing there with her arms folded across her. She was holding herself in as if she was needing to squeeze the cold from out of her chest. Her hair was long and straightening back. And there was no light that could play across her measurelessly dark face. I realized I knew who she was and what she wanted. She had once been inside a moon’s shadow, and she was looking to pass that way again. There was no telling how many times she had gone there before, or in how many ways she would make it back. And it was as if she was passing through looking to find her own nesting ledge on a ridge. Her shoulders curved under, bending her over as if they were raptor wings. And I could see they had carried her away only to drop her down, and that she was climbing through the rock faces once more. Then a dog began to howl, and a shadow’s child moved on.

When I turned back to this room in our house behind the trees, my friend’s face had become cold and still like the year’s first morning under frost. In her lovely face turned away I could see how colder days would soon be coming, soon be coming in. And it wasn’t until we found an Indiana moon running through the trees, a silver boat sailing through gray and skinny trees, that her face opened over and freely smiled again. By then the year’s first snow was calling and we were running also. The hunter’s night that can be so bright and shining was shining soon.

I guess there is no use in pretending anymore, as that shadow’s face still falls sometimes. Like tonight out of the cold winter rain. I lose again those fulling eyes, a woman’s fulling love. I lose it all to a moon shade’s dark side. Then there is how the gray cat stays.


Last edited by Terreson, Feb/9/2013, 2:25 pm
Sep/11/2011, 2:17 am Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Alkiviades Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


I have om=nly just begun to take in your prose, Tee, But I have to tell you, this is my favorite so far. Plenty of images and movements to get captivated by. And the awy it finishes, "I guess there is no use in pretending anymore, as that shadow’s face still falls sometimes."

awesome.

This is the kind of writing I like to wallow in, let myself be sorrounded by it, repeatedly wrapped up in the way the words are waved in.

alki
 

Sep/12/2011, 6:01 pm Link to this post Send Email to Alkiviades   Send PM to Alkiviades Blog
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


Alki, for evident reasons I choose to take your comment as less kind than honest. (self-deprecating chuckle at this point.) I came to prose late, relatively speaking. I couldn't see it then but I see it now. The Poe influence here. About the sentence you cite. A gifted poetry reader was once stopped by that sentence too. Thanks.

Tere
Sep/12/2011, 7:47 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


I do not understand why members have not read or registered this vignette. This is primal stuff.

Tere
Feb/8/2013, 1:02 am Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


Hi Tere,

Did I read this piece when you posted it? I don't remember, and I think I would remember it, especially the description of the gray, green-eyed cat as it is so true to what I know of stray cats that don't know a human touch until it is perhaps/almost too late. The last four paragraphs are beautifully-written, lyrical and sad.

I wondered if the word "eyes" was meant to follow "those fulling" below:

"I lose again those fulling, a woman’s fulling love. I lose it all to a moon shade’s dark side."

Thank you for bumping this up. I've read it twice now and enjoyed it each time, so much so that I know the piece will stay with me and that I will return to it again.
Feb/8/2013, 7:12 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


Thanks, Kat. Indeed it should read 'fulling eyes'. Glad to hear it registers for you. As it does for me. Took me a long time to get it right. Many years I almost gave up on it. But I knew there was a truth to it that needed getting pinned down. I know writing is not supposed to trade in objective corelatives, certainly not pathetic fallacies, anymore. But I still can't find a better poetic device for getting at certain psychological moments.

Tere
Feb/8/2013, 7:36 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Christine98 Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


Tere,

I don't remember reading this when it was first posted. I'm glad you bumped it up as I've read it twice and "wallowed" in it a little myself,

Chris
Feb/9/2013, 9:05 am Link to this post Send Email to Christine98   Send PM to Christine98
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Indiana Moon


Glad you have read the vignette, Chris. 'Wallowing' is a good way of putting it. I think you and I have touched on before how, before there was the study of psychology and psychologists, there were novellists parsing out human behavior, even personality types. That is how this piece reads to me. I clearly remember how much the scene(s) depicted frightened me, showing me something I did not want to know about. I count four characters here. Every one of them afraid of what they want the most, which is love.

Tere
Feb/9/2013, 2:45 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 


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