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In a Canoe and Under Some Trees

“Quick now.”

I dug my paddle blade into the mirror of water and pulled. The bow glided under the low tree. I meant to lay forward but our speed forced me backward. Grey branches passed over my face, and the leaves brushed my nose and cheeks.

At the waterline the trunk of each tree may have exceeded the girth of my thigh by a bit. I have no idea how wide they might have been two meters down where they sunk into the riverine silt. Almost immediately three to four to five forearm-sized branches radiated out from each trunk and branched quickly and frequently to put as many leaves as possible under the sun. These trees created such a shallow umbrella over the water that if I stood in the canoe most came to my waist and the tallest I could see reached my chest. They looked like green cobblestones. Among the branches a wren might easily find refuge in the tight weave, but Chiggory monkeys were forced to walk over the tops reaching down through the hedge to find fruit. The whole of our canoe fit under each tree.

We paddled at a steady pace and only occasionally had to duck under. My guide followed a memory map or instinct. Or maybe she read blazes on the trees I couldn’t see. Never once did we slow; only twice did she stand.

241 words on day 609

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Terminus Thinking

Terminus leaves me with three stories thus far. I think I can make one a major—I think I have to make one a major. Or maybe I mean main. In any case the other two seem to have some significance as well.

I have the story of the mysterious young girl who adopts the name Partly Cloudy Sky and rides along with Cpt. Munro and her first mate Mr. Cameron.

I have the story of Engineer Coffee and his struggle with Admiral Wu to relocate their base of operations and machine shop to a better locale.

And I have the story of tourist-traders Bogdan and Cyril doing no more than wandering Terminus and taking pictures of each other.

Something about this feels very cultural in scope. The adventure comes down to peoples liking or hating each other more than it comes down to individuals accomplishing personal goals. Though the peoples will be effected by the individuals.

I’ve got free fliers and I’ve got the military. There is a real friction between the two groups. The military considers them in their plans, but the free-fliers only think of the military as a natural force to be avoided or ridden out.

I keep coming back to something being over the mountains. Some group or person on the outside who wants in to Terminus. That Terminus must overcome its internal squabbles, unite, and oppose this outside force. But maybe it’s not. Maybe there is enough tension between the fliers and the walkers that these groups must hack it out with each other first. Potentially someone discovers a better use for the flying-rods than flying. So my ‘natural resource’ provides a source of conflict. That makes a surprising amount of sense.

I’ve thought this before, and I’ve avoided thinking about it too hard. The trouble I have with making this flying-rod thing too critical is that I can’t sort out how it wouldn’t have been critical sooner than later. And this is fairly later. It could be that things just take time, or that one group finds a new use for the rods or a way to use the rods better.

366words on day 608

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Engineer Coffee’s Plans Revealed, Nearly

https://1000days.douglasblaine.com/20101021/on-the-life-of-engineer-coffee/

For more of my Ian McQue inspired writings check out the ‘terminus‘ tag.

“He did it. You said he’d do it. And he did it,” Sriram tossed his cap and coat onto the work table near the entrance to the lab. Both garments slumped to the floor like a dead body. He cursed in Hindi then put them back in the same spot on the table. They slid to the floor again. Sri kicked the bundle up under the work table as far back as his anger could get it. “Mador chod!”

Coffee closed the valves on the oxy-acetylene torch he used and set the tool down. He sloughed off his glove and reached under his mask to rub his eyes while Sriram stood there watching. Coffee cocked back the visor.

“Aren’t you pissed?”

“Actually I’m excited,” Coffee said. “Moving the shop will be good for all of us.”

“But he hung you out. If this fails it’s all on you…”

“And if it succeeds it’s all on him…”

“Yes! Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying.” Sri made a gesture with his hand and arm like he wanted to put his brain in Coffee’s skull.

The slender body of Ronnie James Dio crashed into the door frame. His shaven head clunked into the jam as he almost over shot the entrance. “We’re fucking moving the shop? We’re fucking moving the fucking shop?”

“Calm down, kid,” Sri said.

“You calm down, Sri.” Ronnie rubbed his scalp and looked for blood on his fingers. “Is it true Mr. Coffee. Are we moving the shop? Did you tell the Admiral we had to move the shop?”

300 words on day 607