It’s springtime in the California valley.
The sun is out, everything is in bloom and allergies abound.
The allergies have hit me on and off this year. when they’re on they are ON. When they’re off, I probably just am too busy to think about them.
A lot has changed for me this spring and (for the most part,because someone out there is a superlative police) all of it has been good.
We’ve been doing major overhauls in our yards to create dog and kid friendly spaces that I’m excited to hang out in.
Juniper is on the cusp of standing without support.
Charlotte is blossoming into the most amazing kid (from the bud of toddlerhood).
I even cleaned my house. (Let’s not get too crazy here, I clean my house to a tolerable amount most of time, but this time I went a little cleaner still.
We also brought home our newest family member, Miles the black lab puppy. There’s a whole story behind him that I’ll tell, but in the meantime, it’s sort of important and completely obvious that he’s the inspiration behind a lot of my writing right now.
So I hope you enjoy this week’s piece:
Bloom
Jill N Davies
The cotton bolls shouldn’t be blooming in the springtime.
That was the primary thought dancing around in Marvin’s head as he took his evening stroll down Mulberry street to where the dogwoods gave way to open fields.
Tiny flowers transformed the landscape into a vision of snowy-white and peachy-pinks. It was the sort of evening that begged for a long walk into the sunset, or a casual gathering next to a fire pit. He imagined himself sipping red wine and losing himself in deep conversation.
Marvin missed those sorts of gatherings. The last year had been hard for a lot of reasons, but that was one of the hardest for him. That was the secondary thought behind the one about the cotton bolls. It was a much bigger thought, that filled most of the space inside of him.
Neither thought could explain the tiny fluff of cotton that wafted on the breeze and lit on the shoulder of his shirt, clinging to the fabric as if the molecules recognized their kin in another form.
Marvin raised a casual hand to brush it off. His eyes were set on the brilliant pink and gold of the sinking sun. Light broke through the clouds in brilliant spectacles of diffraction. It was incredible that all those colors came from the same source, so far away, scattered and diffracted by microscopic particles in the atmosphere.
He wasn’t thinking about the bloom of the cotton boll or his loneliness when his hand brushed the boll into the air, where it caught a breeze and let out a high-pitched yowl.
Aaiiiyee
Marvin jumped back. Though he knew the sound came from the boll, he scanned his surroundings, looking for a more likely source.
Dogwoods rustled in the breeze as birds chirped and sang in the distance. Mosquitos buzzed at his exposed skin. Through it all, there was the unmistakable sound of the crying boll.
Aaiiiyee!
Marvin lurched forward to catch the boll before it hit the pavement. In doing so he lost his own footing. His knees scraped against the sidewalk, tearing away fabric. The Teflon of his almost new jacket ripped, exposing the bare skin of his elbow. He tumbled sideways, hand wrapping around the boll, protecting it.
It was over as instantly as it started, leaving him in a heap on the thick green grass adjacent to the sidewalk. Glasses askew, he opened his eyes to a blur of blossoms dancing in the brilliance of a still blue sky. He lay there, stunned, until the wiggle of something against the palm of his hand reminded him of the reason for the tumble. Though muffled, he could still hear the little thing’s cry.
Aaiiiyee!
He righted himself, straightening his glasses and tucking his legs. Fat blades of grass scratched at the back of his supporting hand while he brought the other level with his nose, curling his fingers away from the squirming boll.
The Boll slumped unremarkably, settling in his now open palm. It was just a boll. An early blossom drifting on the breeze. What was he thinking?
He dipped his hand to drop it to the ground. Right before it tipped, the boll yowled.
This time he saw it. He stilled his hand, keeping his eyes on the tiny tuft.
To his amazement there appeared a tiny mouth, red tongue lolling as it opened to a dark space. Above the gaping hole two tiny eyes blinked into existence and stared at Marvin’s unbelieving face. The shrieking stopped and the gaping maw was replaced by a meek smile.
“Mama,” it said.
“Hey there, little guy!” Marvin cooed.
The boll blinked.
“Are you real?” Marvin asked, studying the little cotton boll in the fading light.
A rustling breeze seemed to whisper back at him, not a chance. But the babbling persisted, as did the blinking eyes that stared at him with innocent wonder.
“Where did you come from?” Marvin asked, petting the top of the bolls fluffy top.
He was so lost in amazement that he hadn’t heard Gale from down the street walk up behind him, trusty beagles in tow.
“Are you talking to cotton?” she asked, stopping to let the dogs give the grass a thorough sniff.
“Hi Gale,” Marvin started. He stood and turned to her, cupping the cotton boll in his hands. He offered it for her viewing.
Gale looked at the boll with earnest curiosity. The dogs sniffed at Marvin’s shoes and the fresh tears his grass-stained jeans, tails wagging gaily.
“Pretty strange to see cotton bloom in spring, right?” Gale said, concluding her investigation.
“It got stuck on my shirt. It screamed at me…” He stopped himself, right before saying it called me mama.
“Screamed, huh?” Gale said, giving Marvin a curious look.
Marvin’s cheeks reddened. He looked at the boll. The little slash of a mouth had vanished along with the oversized blinking eyes.
“It’s been a hard year,” he said, by way of both an explanation and a change of subject.
Gale nodded. Letting the strangeness of his statement waft away with the boll on the evening breeze.
“I’ve got a litter at home. Not all spoken for yet, maybe you’d like to come have a look?” she offered.
Marvin nodded, head moving slowly.
“That sounds nice,” he said.
She held out one of the leather leads in his direction, ignoring the tear in his jacket, “Why don’t you give it a test drive on the way over?”
He took the leash, the beagle on the other end following the weight of the leather with amicable ease.
They headed down Cottonwood street. Marvin sat in a pile of wiggling white pups with brown and black as Gale looked on approvingly. The light faded as their conversation grew to fill the twilight. Marvin selected the one with brown feet and a white head.
“Do you have a name?” Gale asked.
“I think I’ll call her Cotton,” Marvin said.
The End
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