Saturday, March 13, 2010

Endings...

From Plainsong by Kent Haruf (see February 9th):

Now the wind started up in the trees, high up, moving the high branches.

The barn swallows came out and began to hunt leaf-bugs and lacewinged flies in the dusk.


The air grew soft.

The old dog came out from its rug in the garage and wandered into the fenced yard and sniffed the boys' pantslegs and sniffed the baby and licked its hot red tongue across the baby's forehead, and then it scuttled up to the women on the porch and looked up at them, and looked all around and turned in a circle and lay down, flopping its matted tail in the dirt.

The two women stood letting the breeze blow coolly on their faces, and they opened the fronts of their blouses a little to let it play on their breasts and under their arms.

And soon, very soon now, they would call them in to supper. But not just yet. They stood on the porch a while longer in the evening air seventeen miles out south of Holt at the very end of May.