“The Adventures of Pancho the Pony: A Brand New Day” (Story 1)

The morning sun peeked over the distant trees, stretching its rays through the top half of the open barn doors. It wasn’t long before Pancho felt the relaxing warmth work its way through his shaggy golden coat, all the way down to his skin. He sighed with pleasure and stretched out on his bed of fresh shavings.

Ponies like Pancho – all horses, really – don’t lie down very often. They sleep standing up, since they need to be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. But Pancho got tired easily, and he had learned that lying down was a respite from the pain he felt in his left front hoof when he stood for long periods of time.

He was just thinking about how lovely the sunshine felt on his neck when the warmth suddenly disappeared. He had a feeling someone was watching him, and he was right. As he opened an eye, a small black and white blob came into view. It was a cat, perched on the lip of Pancho’s Dutch stall door – and this cat was deliberately hogging up his sunspot!

Pancho snorted and gingerly raised himself up. “Hey”! he called out. “Hey, you.” Continue reading ““The Adventures of Pancho the Pony: A Brand New Day” (Story 1)”

A Story in Quotes

You must change your life.

—Rilke. “Archaic Torso of Apollo”

I’ve changed, but I’m in pain.

—Morrissey, “Dial a Cliche”

You’ve caught me at a bad time, so why don’t you piss off.

—New Order, “Your Silent Face”

and then the time will come when you add up the numbers,

and then the time will come when you motor away

—Guided by Voices, “Motor Away”, Alien Lanes

I speak in monotone, “Leave my fucking life alone.”

—GBV, “As We Go Up We Go Down”, Alien Lanes

 

Incognito

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the attendant says, averting his eyes. He reaches awkwardly for my mother’s elbow, then points down the hall. “This way.”

Mother looks dimly perplexed, as if trying to remember what she’s forgotten. Perhaps where she misplaced her purse or some other item indispensable to functioning outside the house? She does not notice that everything about her person is, as always, intact: muted paisley suit with matching hat and bag, sensible but stylish heels — no sling-backs for Mrs. Anderson — and short, fixed coiffure. She turns slowly in the attendant’s direction, an index finger lingering on her coral lips as if deep in thought and about to point out the result of her deliberation.

Continue reading “Incognito”