Issue 6:
Sea
Ron Gibson, Jr.
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The Wind's Will
In a hollow depression behind our house, under the crabapple tree, sat a rickety shack my brother Will and I christened the U.S.S. Duwamish. Named after the Duwamish River that flowed nearby, we made believe it was a ship, because on windy days, when rain was blowing from the coast inland, the backyard's overgrown grass thrashed against its boards, like storm-whipped waves battering a ship.
At night, Will and I would float side by side in bed, listening past train whistles caught in the wind and slanted rain pinging against our window for signs of the real storm. The real storm was unpredictable. When it hit, it started with a bang, swelled with fury against the rafters, and crashed outside our doorway, carrying shadows and screams. Will warned me never to open the door because it was demons and banshees trying to play tricks on us.
During ceiling-staring vigils, Will would tell me stories about exotic sounding places we were going to port at. With a captain's optimism, he said we'd ride this storm out. We'd reach horizons where stars didn't recognize us, waters that loved us.
I held on to the covers, smiling at the dreams to come.
~Ron Gibson, Jr.
Note: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts," from My Lost Youth by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Ron resides in Kent, Washington, and says he owes his writing success to
Pez candy and oxygen. Though not necessarily in that order. Email.
© 2001 by Ron Gibson, Jr. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 24, 2002.