Author Archive

You are a song,
A song too beautiful to be sung by any voice,
Too moving to be played by any musician.
Your lyric verse brings delight to all that hear it,
Wonder to all that see.
The angelic harmonies of your beauty
Steal the breath from my mouth.
The melodies of your laugh
Hypnotize me with joy.
Your body moves with graceful orchestration,
And a perfect chorus accompanies your aspect.
Your eyes are symphonies of dazzling brilliance,
An aria of love as your gaze meets mine.
You are a song,
A song that plays on forever in my heart.

He’d driven this road a thousand times in his teens, but it seemed foreign to him today.  A blur of movement caught his eye — a large buck was leaping across the snow covered road — and he had to swerve to avoid hitting it dead on.  He hadn’t driven a rear wheel drive car in years and had forgotten how to compensate for the fishtail.  As the back end of his car swung further and further he knew he was going to go off the road.  In an instant he ran through the scenario of what would happen if he slid into the freezing river.  The words “hypothermia” and “death” stampeded through his mind.

His car plowed into the snow bank with a thud as a wave of crisp snow rained over the windshield.  The force of the impact drove his head into the side window, knocking him unconscious.  He awoke to the steady rhythm of his windshield wipers beating away the falling snow.

–

As he drove, Neil’s mind wandered into the future, creating that familiar vision of his preferred future.  He was wish-making, he knew it, but sometimes dreams do come true.  It was all he had anyway.  He looked on to tomorrow, and the next day and the next as if planning the migration forward of the minutes, hours, and days of his life.  Today was no different.

The day was gray, with a bitterly cold wind.   It would be dark soon.  The last blast of winter had just left its mark on April as Neil drove the winding road along the river.  The thick blanket of snow would linger until nearly June when it would finally give way to spring greenery. He was making his way toward a rendezvous with yet another stranded driver who just couldn’t seem to find it within himself to drive through an early spring snowstorm.  Some folks who have lived here for years or worse yet grew up here seem to spin out faster than the Tasmanian Devil on a rabbit chasing rampage.  It was gonna be one of those days; he just knew it.

A 7-series BMW was hanging tail down over the backside of a snow mound at the edge of the river.  The river was high, even for this time of year, because of the heavy snows that had fallen over the winter.  The lights were on; as were the four-way flashers and the driver side door was open.  He could hear talk radio buzzing from inside.  A man in a tobacco colored overcoat was standing beside the car.  The car had South Dakota plates.

“Mister…Lockman?” Neil asked, checking his clipboard for the name he had scribbled when he had received the call.

“Yes, I didn’t expect you to be here so soon. I was worried that I’d be stranded out here for a while.”

“I was pretty close by when I got the call.  Looks like you took a little unexpected ride tonight,” he said, looking at the tire tracks as they traced the spinning car’s path past the well-dressed man ending at his off angle car.  There was something oddly familiar about this man. Neil flashed on this scene in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen this before.  He hated deja vous.

“Yeah, that’s for sure.  But I’ll bet you’re used to that kind of thing.”

“Oh sure, I pull lots of people out of lots of places.  I know how things can get tricky.  Sometimes things just happen out of nowhere.”

“Indeed.”

“These Bimmers are a bear in the snow sometimes.  But it shouldn’t take long; I’ll have you outta here in a jiff.”

“Bimmer…I always thought it was Beemer,” asked Lockman.  “This is my first one.”

Mr. Lockman stood near the edge of the road as Neil knelt down to inspect the front of the car for a place to hook on.  He’d try the winch first, and then pull with the truck if necessary.  Being rear wheel drive, the car had some good places for a hook, but he would have to clear away a little snow first.

“Some folks do call BMW cars Beemers. It all started with the motorcycles.  Back when British bikes dominated the market and BSA was a well-known marque, riders referred to them as Beezers — a way to say the letters BSA as if it were a word.

BMW riders said Beemer as a way of saying BMW as a word.  This was long before the popularity of BMW cars, so whenever the term Beemer was spoken, it referred to the motorcycle.  I guess you could apply Beemer to either cars or bikes since it’s only a reference to the name BMW.

When the cars became popular, most people called them Bimmers as a way to differentiate them from the bikes. I don’t know why but generally speaking, the bikes are Beemers and the cars are Bimmers.”

“Interesting; you are quite a wellspring of knowledge.”

He managed to get the hook set solidly and stood to find Mr. Lockman gone.  Neil looked around but could not see him anywhere.

“Mr. Lockman?”

“Yes, right here.”  He was behind the wheel.  Neil hadn’t heard him climb into the car.  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Ah…yes, but…”

“How can I help?” Mr. Lockman asked.

“Ah…just put it in neutral and steer, I’ll do the rest.”

Neil felt suddenly cold as he walked back toward the truck.  The wind knocked tufts of snow from the trees that fell to the ground in handfuls.  Icicles that had formed on branches and power lines tinkled in the breeze as they javelined toward the snow covered ground.  As he walked, he got another flash, not a visual, but a feeling.  He felt like he was trying to remember something only he didn’t know exactly what.  It was like telling someone about a scene from a movie that you hadn’t seen in a long time.  The details were blurry, the dialogue misplaced.   You knew the general details, but couldn’t fully describe the action.

He turned toward Mr. Lockman’s car as he reached the truck.

“Ready?” he yelled as he gave Mr. Lockman the thumbs-up sign.

Lockman waved ‘ready’.

He engaged the winch and felt the familiar anxiety of the “what could go wrong that could hurt me” checklist quickly running through his mind.  He’d done this hundreds if not thousands of times.  But he always felt it.

As the cable tightened he felt but did not hear the snap.  The taut cable suddenly let loose in a writhing dance of whipping waves.  The recoil struck him like a sledgehammer on the right side of his head.  He felt no pain, but saw his field of vision blaze a brilliant white, like a flash of lightning in his mind.

He awoke to the warm sunshine of late September filling his room with golden color.  Autumn was arriving.