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Field and Sky DSC_4234

Field and Sky DSC_4234

Farhead Sinks In "You know why we moved here, Nearheart. Because I can work from home." "Yes, but sometimes I need you not to be here." "You are my near and dear heart. I don't understand why you..." "I know. You also don't understand why I don't like that name. No matter how many times I explain it." "Well, I try to reason it out. You mispronounce my name. I don't mind it. I have a sense of humour. You call me Farhead and I call you Nearheart." "I can't pronounce your name. So you're making fun of me. Your friends mispronounce it, but you don't give them dumb names." Farhead considered. For a minute he considered, a minute in which each second seemed like an eternity, because he knew deep down that his considerations, no matter how profound they might seem to him, would get him nowhere with her. Then he sighed (to himself because otherwise her irritation with him would only get worse) and saved his work and signed out of the network. He left with the sound of her vacuuming in his ears and even deeper, at the bottom of his heart. This time he avoided the walk along the shore. The sea was upset and in its whitecapping turmoil was too much like his unreasonable wife. He struck out for the marsh where everything was close and sheltered and he could feel some protection from nature. And then he sank in. Just as he was hearing a bird and trying to record its unusual song with his phone, his boot went in and past its top and he was stuck. He tried with his momentum to extract it and that only sent him headlong on his face in the mud. At that point, rather than try to get up, he just turned his face so he could breathe. He was free. And he was lucky to be here. That was his mantra. Free and lucky. Away from a country that would always keep him sunk in poverty. Away from a city that had made him well-to-do, yes, but was stacked with sickness to the stars that through the smoggy sky you could never see anyway. Free and lucky. How long would it take to sink in? On the way home, soaked and shivering, again he heard the bird and this time spied it out, perched in a leafless small tree, an orange dot like the seal of a Japanese painter. Wiping his mouth clean, he whistled. The bird replied with an identical melody. Free and lucky, he repeated, as if praising the bird. And with a wife who would keep him from ever forgetting how lucky that was, and how much he should praise her for keeping him sharp like a sword. However much it hurt to feel her whetstone, he would praise her. He was lucky. He was also, once again, in a place that was strange. His luck was not of a sort that would allow dullness. He walked back in his house, his new house, with his boots on his feet, and waited for the tracks to summon up the great love of his Nearheart. 12 January 2022 Texas Jim Prospect, Nova Scotia
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Keywords:Nova, Prospect, Scotia, barachois, bay, clouds, field, houses, marsh, sky, winter