“Just a little bit more,” Jon calmly assuaged,
as the sharp pain and I promptly disengaged.
It felt like his fingers were mine in a way.
My eyes closed, I was filled with a love agape.
Chapter 12
“Bring your raincoats today,” Mom said, packing lunch sacks.
“It might be raining by the time you come back.”
“A drizzle?” gulped Ryan, spoon hung from his mouth.
“No, a big storm is coming up from the south.
When it hits us, it’ll still be a hurricane.
We’ll finally have a few days of needed good rain.”
“Are they going to close school?” I smiled with great hope.
Mom smirked very kindly, and shook her head ‘nope.’
“They won’t close it today, but if in the morning,
they change the forecast of the hurricane warning,
or the winds are so bad that the power goes out
they will have to cancel school without a doubt
so you might get a day off of school tomorrow.
But we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes.”
We dawdled to the bus stop under crisp, bright blue skies.
The street filled with children’s voices calling good-byes.
Ryan stared at the sky looking like a sentry
down the hill to Bryers Corners Elementary,
where kids spilled off buses and through the front entrance
like a huge flock of sheep squeezing under a fence.
Ryan ducked behind bushes in front of the school.
With a half-guilty conscience from breaking the rules,
he slid toward the corner, and when the coast was clear,
he bolted back toward the dead-end in high gear.
Chapter 13
By the time Ryan got there, the sun was noon high.
He sat down for a snack on a flat rock nearby.
Digging deep in his backpack, he called for the king,
while grieving the last time they would do their thing.
“Make the water flow deep here, so my barge can stop
and pick up its cargo of pebbles and crops.”
Sucking in his mud with the greatest precision,
The king carried out Ryan’s every decision.
This muddy king’s body, so vast and giant
was made of material especially pliant
As a great sculptor creates objects with his clay
these two made fantastic new worlds as their play.
Starting with a blank slate, they would slowly give birth
to anything they could dream, by moving the earth.
“This stem marks a fence that heads over that ridge.
Please make this stream wider, and I’ll set up a bridge.
That’s perfect!” praised Ryan, with a beaming smile.
“Now make this hill bigger so we’ll see it for miles.”
The king morphed his body ‘til it rose in a mound,
while Ryan just quietly puttered around.
Tiny sticks in a row stretched to make a long fence.
When it came to detail, they spared no expense.
Each tuft of wheat grass made up separate tall trees
in an orchard he built that now shook in the breeze.
Dandelion heads grouped in several neat rows
lined a street to the river and waterfall flows.
On a corner of this line of bright yellow flowers,
he stacked pebbles to build an observation tower.
He took dried milkweed pods and emptied their fluff,
freeing seed to the wind with a great full-cheek puff.
Like concave gondolas, the floating pod halves
spun slowly from the wind through the canal paths.
While Ryan worked on this scene, the pleasant old king
kept moving his body and erecting buildings.
He pushed up tall skyscrapers in a city block
and a harbor on the edge where grand yachts could dock.
Ryan stood on the edge, with his hands on his hips.
He opened his bottle and brought it to his lips.
After wiping his chin to dry drips of his drink,
he urged, “This is the best place yet, don’t you think?”
“Emperor Ryan, I will always enjoy
world-making with you, my bright, limitless boy.”
On hearing this praise, Ryan stood still in a stare.
A harmonious breeze gently blew through his hair.
He watched a large turtle swim out of the pond
and crawl slowly through mud to a log beyond
a pair of boots, though different from each one,
to climb out on the log and baste in the sun.
The markings on the shell of this turtle were rife.
Ryan paused to admire this expression of life.
“I have to go soon, to catch up with the bus.
The real reason I came here was so we could discuss
the big storm that is coming here later tonight.
I wanted to tell you to prepare to take flight.”
On hearing this news, the king rose from the creek,
destroying their world, as he started to speak.
“Are you sure?” the king stared. “There’re no clouds in the sky!
If I tell my Mud Gullumpers, they’ll want to know why
I think tonight is the night they can finally flee.
You know nobody has any faith in me.”
“My mom told me this morning she heard on the news
a hurricane is coming and it will suffuse
rain all over the land for hundreds of miles
and for several days,” Ryan flashed a forced smile.
The king gazed at Ryan, lost in rumination,
and his face filled with kindness and adoration.
“Emperor Ryan, I hope that you know
the worlds you will make as you continue to grow
throughout all of the years after I’ve gone away
will be magical places for all children to play.”
Ryan let his gaze fall down hard on the sand,
a reaction the king did not understand.
He whispered, “I’m sorry, did I make a mistake?”
“I’m ok,” gulped Ryan. “It just makes my throat ache.”
The king extended an arm to bid him goodbye.
Shaking his hand firmly, he looked him in the eye.
“Keep this.” The king ordered, plopping a mud lump
into Ryan’s hand with a soft, muted thump.
“Just flatten it out to a little pancake,
lay it out in the sun and give it time to bake.
Once totally dry, you can save it forever,
to remind you of our awesome endeavors
and so you’ll never forget your very best friend
lay in this mud, in this creek, down in your dead end.”
Ryan grabbed his backpack and sprinted from the creek.
Running fast as he could, as tears streamed down his cheek,
and he clutched the lump delicately in his hand
as he fled away blindly from his promised land.
The bus brakes squeaked loudly slightly past the stop sign.
Ryan ran up and quickly joined into the line
of kids leaving one more fall school day behind,
though he was in a disparate state of mind.
“Where were you?” hooted Cyd. “I know you skipped school!”
He high-fived him while hollering, “You are so cool!”
“He’s all covered in mud, so I know where he’s been!”
Pam tittered behind a most devious grin.
“Come on Bits, let’s go home.” Ryan grabbed my elbow
and he dragged me away, as if I was in tow.
�
��Are you ok?” I protested. “Stop dragging me!”
But he just kept on tugging, ignoring my plea.
He sent me in the house, moving behind the hedge,
and placed something on the front window ledge.
“We’re home!” he bellowed, as he came through the door.
“Take off your shoes! You’ll get mud on the floor!”
Mom exclaimed, “You’re filthy! What happened to you?”
Ryan told Mom a story I knew was untrue
about sliding at recess while chasing a ball.
He couldn’t slow down, all but slammed through a wall!
How lucky he was not to hit his poor head!
“I’m covered in mud, Mom. But at least I’m not dead!”
“Go to your homework,” Mom grimaced, her lips pursed.
“But the storm comes tonight; so can we go play first?”
Mom weighed our offer, and then finally agreed.
“But at the first sound of thunder, you two really need
to come home before the hurricane arrives.
This might be the best storm of both of your lives.”
Chapter 14
We rode our bikes slowly, coasting down the hill.
We knew it was late, but took care not to spill
our six woolly bears caught up in the meadow
off the hill where we sled whenever there’s snow.
Barbecue smells cruised the flattening street.
I picked up some speed as I kicked out my feet.
The long path set before us glittered and gleamed,
glistening from the light of a brilliant moonbeam.
Colorful lanterns were strung across the lawn
of the Li house, and our eyes were instantly drawn
to the family sitting , pointing up at the sky
and enjoying their dinner, when we pedaled by.
“Hi Jon,” Ryan called out as his bike wheels slowed.
Jon got up and came out to the edge of the road.
“Why is your family all eating outside?”
Ryan smiled, as he pulled his bike up lantern-side.
“It’s the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival tonight.
In the eighth lunar month, the moon’s notably bright.
It’s a very popular Chinese celebration.
A chance to reflect on our appreciation
for the abundant fall harvest from the earth,
and to remind families how much they are worth
to each other right now, and to ensure
that our family stays strong into the future.”
Ryan reflected, “Well, the food smells great!”
“Please join us!” beamed Jon.
“No, we’re already late.
Any food from your garden?”
“I grew cucumbers.
But this time of year offers dwindling numbers.”
“We caught woolly bears to raise through wintertime,”
I said lifting my pail, which was covered in grime.
“They have slim copper stripes, so now we know
that this winter will be harsh and have lots of snow.”
“The color of this bear predicts future weather?”
Jon asked scooping up one with a touch light as feather.
“The more copper they have, the milder months ahead.”
“Did I hurt him?” Jon shrunk.
“No, he’s just playing dead.
They curl up like that when they’re handled too much.
You’d never harm this thing with your kind of touch.”
Jon cupped his hands ethereally over my hand
and parted his pinkies so the curled bear would land
on my soft, padded mounts and slide down my fate line
It’s important to care for creatures so supine.
“Won’t he die this winter, if it gets really cold?”
“They make their own antifreeze; that’s what I’m told.
Ryan says if we’re mindful and keep him so safe,
We can feed him ‘til he’s full, then he’ll hibernate.
When he wakes up in spring, we can feed him again,
putting twigs, grass, and spring leaves inside of his pen.
When he spins his great furry, pale, silky cocoon,
that’s the sign we’ll see some big changes really soon.
His body breaks down into imaginal cells.
When they recombine, a new body then swells
to fill the cocoon as a new kind of bug.
The cocoon fits the adult insect nice and snug.
And when he discards that pretty silk cloth,
out pops a tan Isabella tiger moth.”
“This is the first night, in all of my years
that we’ve celebrated with a sky that’s so clear!
But now lightning flashes on the horizon
and that surely signals the end to our fun.
Let me give you something, a sweet little treat,
a small gift that you two can take home to eat.
Have this dainty pastry. It’s called a moon cake.
They’re a special treat that my grandmother makes.
Promise me that you two will at least share this one
before this brilliant Harvest moonlight is all gone.”
“We will,” Ryan vowed, “but now we have to go.
Thunder rumbles closer. The wind’s starting to blow.”
Mom stood on the porch as we rode to the shed.
A gust of wind blocked out the words that she said.
We knew she was angry from the way her hands jerked,
and the shape of her eyebrows revealed she was irked.
“Where have you two been? You were to come home soon.”
“We talked with Jon’s family, celebrating the moon.”
“Oh Ryan, don’t lie, I think that you’ll agree
we talked to Jon briefly, but the blame is on me.”
With Mom’s focus deflected from my brother,
he used his luck to slip under the cover
of our front porch, behind the tall green hedge
to retrieve what he had left on the window ledge.
“We were rapt in our woolly bear acquisition,
when I caught something that changed our expedition.
An enormous bug! Biggest we’d ever seen!
If bugs have leaders, surely this one was queen!
Fire shot from its mouth, so we covered our eyes.
Its wings buzzed our hair when it did a fly-by.
I just had to catch it! Though Ryan warned not to,
I bolted ‘cross the field toward the thing I pursued.
When its dark form swooped by, shadowing the moon,
I swung the net high above, when opportune.
‘I got it!’ I screamed, with my net overhead.
Then my feet left the earth. I was caught instead!
Trapped writhing, it flew straight toward the trees,
and dragged me behind, tall grass scratching my knees.
Ryan ran for my foot as I flew by him fast.
He lunged for me, but I rose, eluding his grasp.
Thrashing as it flew, it slithered through the sky.
Its tail banged on a tree, and some scales fell nearby.
That’s when I realized (and don’t think that I’m bragging)
This wasn’t a bug – I had caught a dragon!
One claw almost sliced through my shirt near my arm.
When it rose further still, I feared I would be harmed.
So I released the stick and fell to the ground,
laying back in the tall grasses, now safe and sound.
The dragon ripped off my net in a hot wrath,
and it flew through the air leaving clouds in its path,
spewing lightning and rain as it glided away.
Ryan ran up the hill to check I
was okay.”
“What a tale,” my mom gasped, “simply like no other!
It’s almost as epic as those by your brother!
Get upstairs and washed before the storm arrives.
Dinner’s ready, but cold. We waited past five.”
Mom cut our mooncake in half on a plate,
and she gave us ripe peaches, which we gladly ate.
Our sharp teeth popped right through the soft, fuzzy skins.
Sweet elixir dripped down our chinny chin chins.
Chapter 15
I could hear my mom reading my sisters to sleep
“And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street…”
Her voice changed to whispers as she turned off their light.
I slipped past to my room in a towel wrapped tight.
“Make it quick, Ryan,” my mother implored.
“The storm’s almost here,” she rapped hard on the door.
The lightning flashed closer and the thunder rolled.
Our Indian summer turned suddenly cold.
In my room, the curtains lashed at the ceiling.
I buttoned my nightgown, and filled with a feeling
of dolor for Ryan, who was losing a friend,
mixed with anxiousness, staring at the calm dead end.
“Hello, Bits?” a voice peeped over by my window.
It was Pam loud and clear through our green garden hose.
I picked up the funnel, placing it to my ear,
and flickered my flashlight so she knew I could hear.
“Will you watch with me once the hard rain begins?”
“Of course I will, Pam! But I have to stay in.
My mom wants me in bed, so my room must stay dark.
But I’m waiting to watch the Mud Gullumpers embark
on their epic journey straight up to the moon.
I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon!
Let me go say goodnight to my parents downstairs.
I’ll be back in a second; don’t go anywhere!”
I went down the stairs to where mother was knitting.
Dad slept in his chair next to where she was sitting.
“Goodnight Mom,” I whispered, kissing her warm cheek.
She peered over her glasses and started to speak.
The Mud Gullumpers Page 7