by BobA. Troutt
*****
Dead Limbs and Leaves
Dead Limbs and Leaves
It was a hot summer day in 1949 in the small community of Dead Limbs and Leaves, Alabama—the hottest day on record. I remember that summer very well. My friends and I sat atop the Long Hungry Hollow Road road sign. My name is Ronny Rhoades III; but all my friends call me Road Kill.
I am a buzzard, you see. Some of us roosted in the nearby trees as others walked about the ground below. Occasionally, a car or truck would pass and a few of my friends would take flight, but they came back. Yep, I remember it well. You see, that was the summer when a young buzzard name Little Bit had his heart set on flying. He was no more than a cub cadet wanting to take on the sky above. Snickering a bit at him, I remembered how it was with me. His eyes grew big as he talked about it. He would flap his wings as his little feet barely lifted off. Bit was small and his body still weak, but his heart was strongly set. Nothing exciting ever happened around Dead Limbs until that summer, until a young bird with big dreams soared.
In the center of the community set a giant dead sycamore tree. Also called the roosting house, it was the community center where everyone gathered. They called it Bent Tree. There about it laid a small stream that ran across the community that dried up after spring. The community was dressed in sagebrush and an old wagon trail grown up with thorns and weeds. A few small straggly cedars and a small thicket of young shoemake saplings grew in spots. Beneath the slumbering giant lay parched dead bark, and the dancing wind caused the tree to swag from side to side. Inside the old tree you could hear snap, pop, and a cracking sound at times. The scent of decayed wood filled its chambers after a rain, but above it was home. Suddenly, Smokie, my best friend, yelled out.
“Here he comes,” talking about a squirrel. “Will he make it?” he cried.
“I’ll bet five to one on the squirrel,” spoke up another buzzard.
“I don’t know,” said Road Kill, “that car is moving fast. Here we go,” shouted Smokie.
“Can you believe it? That squirrel was right under that car.”
“Maybe next time,” the other bird chuckled. “You can stop smacking your lips now.”
“You guys can hang around here if you want to,” said Koodie, “but, I’m going to fly up the road and circle around. He may have hit something up there.”
As he flew off, Smokie spoke up, “That bird that just left, R. K, didn’t he do some time in the big bird house upstate?”
“He did,” I replied. “He’s a jail bird.”
They all laughed, but I warned them, “Don’t let him hear you poke fun. Koodie can be a mean ol’ bird when he wants to be.”
Then one of the newest members spoke up, “You went to college, didn’t you R. K.?”
I acted like I didn’t hear him.
“Come on,” coaxed the other. “You did, didn’t you?”
“Well, I got my college degree and two years of law school,” I replied.
“Cool,” they all mumbled. “What happened?”
“Well, I realized that life was nothing but a hit and a miss. Here today, gone tomorrow. I wanted to party and enjoy life. Mom and Pop wanted me to finish,” he bragged. They wanted me to be a Big Bird in the community. But, all I wanted to do was to hang out with my friends.”
“That’s my man,” cheered Smokie. “Us birds of a feather must stick together.”
“How did you wind up here?” they asked.
“Mom and Pop are from up north,” I stated. They flew in one day, liked it, and stayed. It’s been my home ever since.”
“Why there’s not a hill or hollow, stream or water hole that R. K. don’t know about,” boasted Smokie.
“Now wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Hold on guys, let’s not get carried away. I want to finish my story on Little Bit. Day after day he would sit and watch the other buzzards fly and soar. You know how it is when you want something so bad, and it is right in front of you just out of your reach. That’s the way it was with Little Bit. His wings were not ready for flight, but his heart was as he watched the others soar high in the blue velvet sky, laced and trimmed in glittering sunlight.”
“One of these days when my wings get strong,” Bit would always say. “I’m going to soar high and float about, dancing in the sky.” His eyes grew big and his heart began to race as he looked on.
A few hours later, one of the birds spoke up, “I wonder what happened to Koodie?”
“I don’t know. He never came back,” said Smokie. “I guess he must have found something and didn’t want to share it or didn’t make it out of the road in time.”
“Yeah,” agreed another buzzard. “Birds like Koodie are loners, independent, keeping to themselves,” replied Smokie. “You know what I mean?”
“Well, I thought they were a little hard on Koodie. He’s done his time.”
It was time to move on.
“Well, we ought to send a couple of birds out to look for him.”
“Oh no,” cried the other buzzard.
“Do we have any volunteers?” asked Smokie.
“I guess I’ll go,” said one.
“Me, too,” spoke another.
“Good deal, birds,” I replied. “We’ll wait for you here,” I told them.
Back at Bent Tree, Little Bit was watching his mentor and best friend, Slick, twirling about in the blue almost taking his breath away.
“Way to go,” cried out Bit as little tears beaded up in his eyes. “I wish I could soar,” he said to himself. “I’ll show them one day,” he boasted rearing back on his feet, throwing back his shoulders, and pushing out his chest. “I’ll show them, wait and see. My wings feel stronger now. I’ll be as good as Slick, or even better, one of these days.”
About that time in flew Slick. “Hold on little fellow,” he said. “You do remember the thing I taught you?”
“Sure I do, Slick,” encouraged Bit. “Can I try it again?”
“Well, I don’t know little fellow,” he replied, “but, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Slick was not called Slick just to be calling him that,” I said. “Slick O. Byrd was his given name, and if there was anyone in Dead Limbs who could reach someone, it was O’ Slick. He had it all up here.”
“Cool, R.K.” replied the other flock of birds.
“Quickly Bit flapped his wings creating a lift. Then he slowly lifted off the limb just barely but enough to take flight,” I remembered. “Around and around he flew as Slick watched.”
“Wee,” cried Bit as his little wings flapped.
Then the little fellow landed back on the limb, in front of Slick.
I giggled.
“I’m going to do it,” he shouted. “The sky is the limit.”
“I believe you will someday,” replied Slick.
Smokie whispered to himself, “Keep the faith, brother.”
Shortly, the two buzzards that were looking for Koodie returned.
“What about it?” I said as they perched on a limb near me.
“We didn’t see him,” they replied. “It’s like he vanished, disappeared. We saw a field mouse on the side of the road.”
“Well,” spoke up Smokie.
“There was nothing left,” he said. “It was ugly.”
“Wait a minute,” cried Smokie. “Here comes a car.”
As they all perked up on their perches their eyes quickly fixed on the car. Their mouths began to water as some flapped their wings to be ready. Suddenly, from a bush beside of the road, a rabbit shot across in front of the car.
“Yum, rabbit,” said a voice in the crowd.
Then all of a sudden the car slowed down and turned off.
“Can you believe that,” cried Smokie. “That was a sure hit.”
“Well, maybe the next time,” I replied. “It just wasn’t time for the rabbit yet.”
“Boys, I believe it’s going to be
a long, hot, dry summer,” said Smokie.
“A hungry one at that,” cried another buzzard.
Well, let me tell you what happened next. A few days later Bit came to Slick, confronted him, and said it was his time.
“Time for what?” replied Slick.
“It’s time for me to soar,” boasted Bit.
Slick stood quiet for a moment, ruffled his feathers a bit, rubbed his chin, and slowly looked up.
“First, I think it’s time for you to see the Ole One,” he said as he paused for a second and pointed up.
Quickly, Bit looked about, then up and saw what Slick was pointing at. It was the Ole One. Bit took a big long swallow as Slick dropped his wing.
“The Ole One,” said Bit.
“Yep,” replied Slick, “The Ole One.”
“The Ole One,” said Smokie and the others.
“Yep,” the Ole One,” I said.
At first Bit was afraid. He had heard tales of the Ole One. He wasn’t for sure he wanted to go up there. But, he gritted his bill, stiffened his legs, flogged his wings, and said, “I still want to soar.”
Slick tilted his head back and looked straight up. As Bit looked up high into the top of the tree, he saw a dark shadowy figure perched out on a limb.
“I’ve never been that high before,” Bit said hesitantly.
“What did he do then?” asked Smokie.
“Well, let me tell you birds. The sun was about to set in Dead Limbs, and it was a long way up to the top of the tree.”
“Are you with me, Slick?” asked Bit.
“Not this time, Bit. You’ll have to do this on your own. I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” warned Slick. “Get a good night’s sleep because you got a long day tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bit. “But, Slick do I have…”
“Yes,” said Slick, “it’s time.”
That night Bit couldn’t sleep. He wiggled and squirmed, twisted and turned until dawn. Finally morning arrived. His eyes were heavy, with a little sleep in them, but his heart was still true. As he looked out across Dead Limbs that morning, a storm had started, driving the rain hard against the earth. Patiently he waited for the storm to ease up. He was sheltered by a big limb that stretched above him. Only a few drops of rain fell on him as he looked out across the way.
“Maybe it will rain all day,” he said to himself, “and I won’t have to go.”
But, Bit’s desire to soar beat down deep in his heart. Of all the things in the world he could want for, soaring was all that he wanted. Finally, the summer rain stopped, and a still, windless day settled in Dead Limbs.
Suddenly, a voice spoke.
“Bit,” the voice said. “It’s time.”
Slowly, he came out from under the big limb that still dripped drops of rain. Without saying a word, Slick pointed up. Bit looked at him then up at Ole One. Taking a deep breath, Bit flogged his wings and flew to the first branch. Cautiously, he looked back at Slick then to Ole One at the top of the tree. Carefully he flew up to another limb, then another, higher and higher toward the top of the tree. As he climbed upward the bigger and darker Ole One appeared.
“Keep on going,” cheered Slick. “Don’t look down.”
Limb by limb, he slowly moved up until he stood toe to toe with the Ole One. Slowly, Bit began to look up at the giant buzzard. He had never seen a buzzard so big. His little legs trembled as his voice cracked, “Sir,” he said. The Ole One paid him no mind.
“Guys, what do you think about that?” cried Smokie.
“Cool,” mumbled the other.
“I remember my time I stood in front of the Ole One,” I recalled.
“We do too,” cried the others as they their wings flopped about.
“But Bit was so young,” said Smokie, “probably the youngest yet. What did the Ole One do? What did Bit do?”
“Give me a minute, guys, and I’ll tell you,” I said as I cleaned my bill on the limb and took a deep breath.
“Hey, man,” yelled the others. “Turn that funky buzzard breath another way when you exhale. That smell would make anyone puke.”
“How do you think I got my name, duh?” I chuckled.
“Forget them, R.K.” said Smokie, “go on with the story.”
“Alright, all that Bit could see was the Ole One’s tiny beady eyes staring back at him through his thick glasses.
“Bit,” called out the Ole One in a deep voice.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, his legs trembling.
“How can I help you?” came a deep voice.
“Sir,” he stated weakly. “I want to soar.”
“To soar,” he said, then laughed shaking the limb. “You are going to have to speak up.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, “and it’s not funny,” Bit said. “I want to fly and soar like the others.”
“Oh, I’m not laughing at you,” replied the Ole One. “But, I do understand more than you think. I too at one time, could not soar.”
“You couldn’t,” said Bit.
“Why, yes,” he replied. “I was not much bigger than you. Yes, yes indeed I remember, and when the time came, I was ready. Are you ready, Bit?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bit. “I’m ready. I’ve come a long way.”
“I believe you have,” said the Ole One. “I believe you have. So you want to soar?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Bit. “I want to be one of the best.”
Suddenly, Bit spread his wings and fluffed them with a quick jerk. He began to flap them, raising his feet off the limb. He squawked out, “Look at me. Yes, yes,” he cried.
“You are quite an astounding bird, I must say,” shouted the Ole One as he turned about. “Bit, there’s an old secret you may not understand now, but the key is connecting the dots. Once you have figured it all out, connecting the dots will create a beautiful picture.”
“Yes, sir,” he cried. “I don’t understand what you are saying, but I guess it’s like they say you have to crawl before you walk. Fly before you soar,” he yelled.
Then he looked away. Quickly, Bit looked about as he heard a flapping sound. It was the other buzzards flapping their wings, going into flight. As they stretched their wings, necks, and legs, the tree suddenly began to shake, and the buzzards took flight.
“Wow,” shouted Bit as he watched the big birds take off.
Unaware to Bit, the Ole One turned back around and was watching him. The Ole One never said a word but watched his enthusiasm grow and grow. As he watched, Little Bit’s heart began to beat faster and faster. His little feet flinched to let go of the limb, while his wings began to flutter. He looked up at the other buzzards circling above, and then looked back at the Ole One. The Ole One nodded his head and winked his eyes. A big bright smile crossed Bit’s face as his little heart raced with the speed of his wings. Letting go of the limb, he took flight. Up, up, up, higher and higher he flew. As he topped out, he dropped into a free fall. The Ole One watched as Bit fell down through the sky.
“Pull up,” he whispered to himself. “Pull up Little Bit.”
As the others soared, they watched and held their breath. Then as the Ole One was about to cry out for him to pull up, Bit rolled out of his dive, caught the wind under his wings, and soared for the first time in his life. Everyone relaxed. The Ole One just giggled under his breath, “He, he, he, that Little Bit is something else.”
As Bit soared, he looked about and saw Slick across the way and yelled, “It feels good.”
Slick winked his eye at him and smiled.
As Ole One took off his glasses, he wiped away the tears.
Up, up and away climbed Bit into the blanket of blue.
“This was the greatest,” he said. “My dream finally came true.”
Hours later, Bit yelled at the Ole One sitting atop the big old Sycamore tree. “What is it?” he asked.
“Thanks for all your help,” he yelled. “I d
idn’t understand it all. I guess I connected all the dots. But you’re right, it’s a beautiful picture.”
“All you had to do, Bit,” proclaimed the Ole One, “was have faith and patience, and believe.”
“Bit finally made it,” cheered Smokie and the others.
“Yep, he was definitely one of a kind,” I told them.
“Whatever happened to him?” one bird spoke up.
“If you look up into the sky on any given day and have faith and patience, and believe, you can see him soaring on the breast of the wind.”
“Just connect the dots,” said Smokie. “Just connect the dots.”
Then Smokie looked up, “Here comes old Koodie.”
About then I farted. You talk about a sick looking bunch of birds.
“Good grief,” cried the others as they disfigured their faces.
“Is there no respect?” one cried.
“Is there no mercy?” cried another.
Quickly they took off, climbing high into the sky, trying to get away.
“Oh, come on guys,” I shouted. “It’s not that bad.”
“Get a life,” screamed Smokie.
“Where is everyone going?” asked Koodie.
“R.K. farted and it stinks to high heaven.”
Suddenly, he turned about and began to fly the other way.
“Are we still on for rook Friday night?” I shouted as they disappeared out of sight.
I just laughed. A little while later a truck came down the road and a skunk crossed in the truck’s path. Flip, flop, bump, roll went the skunk as the truck drove on. I sat a few minutes on the sign watching the dead skunk. Then I flew over to it. I paced this way, and that then, all of a sudden, I got a whiff of the skunk.
“Good grief,” I screamed, “that would almost make you puke.” Quickly flying off, I cried out to the others, “Hey, guys, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
After that, things around Dead Limbs and Leaves were never the same.
“I wish I had me some buttermilk and some salt,” said R.K.
*****
A Cry in the Wind
Beyond the Truth
Thistles and Thorns
To read other work by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbysbooks.8m.com
