Semen Colored Sky


Billy’s leg was chewed off and quickly consumed.  Critters crawled the ground frantically attached to the scattered pieces of flesh.  Perspectives were gathered: November 8, 2001 – cool semen colored day across the skies of Western Pennsylvania , just outside of Pittsburgh , down the river toward Ohio . 


A day of November fully embodied by the stages of death as an autumn day should be. People were miserable and numb except for those who lived, died, and already knew from their own resurrection that today was indeed a beautiful day.  Well maybe it wasn’t a good day for foul.  Well then, maybe it wasn’t for Billy.


Foul were a prized succession ‘round these parts.  Foul were considered elegant for their ability to fly away.  To kill a foul was to kill your girls’ dreams of Paris and rich jewels embedded in greenish amber fame.  Billy was confused.  And, in the name of tradition he buttoned down his corduroy flannel and zippered up his brown wool sporting pants, grabbed a flask of Highland single malt scotch and hustled into the woods.


Yes, this was an ancestral trait going back a hundred years or so.  Billy enjoyed trudging through the cool muddy steps as his granddaddies all did.  Here was pure existence.  The sounds of nature permeated his being.  Billy was conscious that he was connected and experiencing lucidity.  “It all is one – and one is all,” he thought aloud. 


With genetic precision, Billy shot and killed one flying high.  And, he understood moments later when the wolf’s fangs penetrated the skin of his thigh with voracious hunger and natural predatory law.  Billy smiled as blood blended with murky water and, with a lapping sound, seeped into the dark soil of the fall day in Western PA.