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@@ -100,27 +100,33 @@ This was what she loved about the winter. The absolute silence and stillness tha # The farmer in Milwaukee. -Milwaukee drained her. It always had, but it had become worse as she'd aged. She wasn't sure if it was her getting older or the travel getting harder. The train ran so seldom now. She was no long willing to sit in the open boxcars. She's waited nearly a month for a southbound engine with a closed car. Then weather had delayed the trip further, spring rains had soaked the earth and mudslides blocked the tracks. She'd spent an extra day in tk town in the middle of Wisconsin waiting while somewhere up the track work crews shoveled out the mud and all around them storm clouds gathered, threatening to soak the earth again. +Milwaukee drained her. It always had, but it had become worse as she'd aged. Now even the thought of the journey was enough to make her wish she were an only child. Or at least that her siblings had had the sense to leave the city. She wasn't sure if it was her getting older or the travel getting harder that wore on her. The train ran so seldom now. Almost no one had business in the city anymore. Little went in, nothing came out. In a place where once all roads had run north-south, now only two did and there was only one train line into the city. Like is in the country she'd told her brother years ago, between the wars. It was one of the rare occasions where they'd had a civil conversation. Until she'd begged him to leave the city. Then he'd laughed and told her that only the cities would survive. In a way he was right, only the cities had survived, the people in them were the walking dead. The walking dead with lawyers she reminded herself. -That she hadn't minded so much. The quiet cold evening, the lights of the streets flickering in the wind. It turned cold and few snowflakes came swirling down, it reminded her of a picture she'd found cleaning out her grandmother's house. She discovered it at the bottom of a shoebox full of strange puffy pictures just like it, most faded beyond recognition, but this one she could still make out the image, a night scene, a yellow-white snowy road, snowflakes caught in the glare of the light, an electric light, and a woman she assumed was her grandmother, maybe her great grandmother, probably in her early twenties, stumbling, or running, it was hard to tell, but smiling. +She was no long willing to sit in the open boxcars that most people used. It would have been quicker, or at at least she could have left sooner. She'd waited nearly a month for a southbound engine with a closed car. But then, the thought of sitting on the hard metal floor as the train jolted along. She wasn't that young any more.The weather had delayed her trip further, spring rains had soaked the earth and mudslides blocked the tracks. She'd spent an extra day in tk town in the middle of North Lakeland waiting while somewhere up the track work crews shoveled out the mud and all around them storm clouds gathered, threatening to soak the earth again. -She sat for hours in the front room of the boarding house alternately staring out the window and listlessly reading an account of tk town before the wars, when the snow and cold were much greater and everything it seemed, had been better. She kept thinking of that picture. It was probably taken after the wars, but not long. Electricity hadn't lasted much more than a year or two after the last war. Unless his grandmother had lived in a city and not told her. But she'd never mentioned it. And it wasn't like one just moved in and out of cities. Not even back then. Had her grandmother really lived through winters where the temperatures routinely dipped below zero? +That she hadn't minded so much. The quiet cold evening, the lights of the streets flickering in the wind. Just after dark it turned cold and a few snowflakes came swirling down, it reminded her of a picture she'd found cleaning out her grandmother's house the previous year. She discovered it at the bottom of a shoebox full of strange puffy pictures, most faded beyond recognition, but this one she could still make out the image, a night scene, a yellow-white snowy road, snowflakes caught in the glare of the light, an electric light, and a woman she assumed was her grandmother, maybe her great grandmother, probably in her early twenties, stumbling, or running, it was hard to tell, but smiling. -She'd lived to 94. She talked of the winters in her youth. When winter meant terrible cold. And darkness. The darkness she understood, it still came. And she didn't like the cold she felt around her as a child, couldn't imagine it being another 30, 40 degrees colder. Freezing was far colder than she liked. She'd left at 18. Joined the Lakeland Volunteer Army to get away from the cold. She'd served in the east, part of the humanitarian mission to New York. She'd seen firsthand the horrors of New York. She shuddered at the memory. Milwaukee was bad, but it wasn't as bad as New York. She'd heard some of the bigger cities had stabilized. She wasn't sure she believed it. It was hard to unsee what you've seen. +She sat for hours in the front room of the boarding house alternately staring out the window and listlessly reading an account of tk town before the wars, when the snow and cold were much greater and everything it seemed, had been better. She kept thinking of that picture. It was probably taken after the first war, but not long. Electricity hadn't lasted much more than a year or two after the new borders were drawn. Unless his grandmother had lived in a city and not told her. But she'd never mentioned it. And it wasn't like one just moved in and out of cities. Not even back then. -When she'd been called back to the cold she hadn't actually minded. The Army had not turned out to be what she'd wanted. She'd already decided not to re-enlist when she got the telegram from his mother. And just like that she'd been back in the cold. Surrounded by the trees. Her life had been lived for the trees from then on. She was in service to them the way some were in service to their gods. It was similarly mysterious, myths of the distant past, obligations, ceremonies, rites and passages. She was the priest. She chuckled at the thought. A fellow guest at the inn looked up at her and smiled. She stirred and forced herself to stand, to get the blood moving through her body. She walked over to the fire and added another log, it was birch,a wood that burned hot, but didn't grow much anymore this far south. Even her home in the north had only remnants of the massive tracts of birch that had once filled these flat lands. +Had her grandmother really lived through winters where the temperatures routinely dipped below zero? She found it hard to believe. But the woman had lived to 94. She talked of the winters that had been in her youth. When winter meant terrible cold. And darkness. The darkness she understood, it still came. And she didn't like the cold she felt around her as a child, couldn't imagine it being another 30, 40 degrees colder. Freezing was far colder than she liked. She'd left the north woods at 18. Joined the Lakeland Volunteer Army to get away from the cold. She'd served in the east, part of the humanitarian mission to New York. She'd seen firsthand the horrors of New York. She shuddered at the memory. Milwaukee was bad, but it wasn't as bad as New York. She'd read that some of the bigger cities had stabilized. She wasn't sure she believed it. It was hard to unsee what you've seen. +When she'd been called back to the cold she hadn't actually minded. The Army had not turned out to be what she'd wanted. She'd already decided not to re-enlist when she got the telegram from her mother. And just like that she'd been back in the cold. Surrounded by the trees. Her life had been lived for the trees from then on. -She wakes up the next morning to a light coating of snow, which means no rain, no mud, the train runs the rest of the way in and the scene moves to: +She lived in service to the trees the way some lived in service to their gods. It was similarly mysterious, myths of the distant past, obligations, ceremonies, rites and passages. She was a priest. She chuckled at the thought. A fellow guest at the inn looked up at her and smiled. She stirred and forced herself to stand, to get the blood moving through her body. She walked over to the fire and added another log, it was birch, a wood that burned hot, but didn't grow much anymore this far south. Even her home in the north had only remnants of the massive tracts of birch that had once filled these flat lands. -The depot was on the edge of town. She stepped off into the cold wind that came off the lake this time of year. There were closed carriages offering to drive her through the checkpoints and into the city without needing to stop, but she marched past them and walked alone across the great expanse of the distancing field. The grass was still frozen, crunching under his boots as she walked. A lifetime serving trees had left her sensitive to the damage one does, just walking through the woods. Not that there was anyway to avoid it, just that one might recognize it and feel, not regret, she did not feel regret, more appreciation. She tried to appreciate where she was in this cycle, that she was the boot, not the grass beneath it and to think always of the grass beneath it and to try to step as lightly as one could. It was the religion of the forest. Step lightly, out of obligation. Out of necessity. Move silent and light lest the prey escape or the predator sense you. +She awoke the next morning to a world in white. Snow. Only an inch or two, but still snow. It had been years since anyone had seen snow this far south. The railroad was anxious to be underway before it melted and unleashed more mud. The train left early. + +The Milwaukee depot was on the edge of town. She stepped off into the chilly spring winds whipping off the lake. There were closed carriages offering to drive her through the checkpoints and into the city without needing to stop, but she marched past them and walked alone across the great expanse of the distancing field. The grass was still frozen, crunching under her boots as she walked. A lifetime serving trees had left her sensitive to the damage one does, just walking through the woods. Not that there was anyway to avoid it, just that one might recognize it and feel, not regret, she did not feel regret, more appreciation. She tried to appreciate where she was in this cycle, that she was the boot, not the grass beneath it and to think always of the grass beneath it and to try to step as lightly as one could. It was the religion of the forest. Step lightly, out of obligation. Out of necessity. Move silent and light lest the prey escape or the predator sense you. She showed her card at the window and stepped into the room to the left. She removed her clothes, shivering in the antiseptic cold of the changing room. She put on the strange, almost slippery clothes the city demanded and moved into the exhausting room where she was fumigated and blasted with air designed to remove all the dust and dirt and potential illnesses that might be on her. Illnesses she didn't even know she had. With that completed she donned the thin coat she was offered and stepped out of decontamination chamber into the city. -It was silent. It was always the silence that got to her in the city. There was no one on the street. Few people left their homes. Few could of course, but even animals had left the cities. Birds did not land in them. There was little life at all. Some trees. More down by the river. Some grass, though it was all white now under a thin coating of icy snow. +It was silent. It was always the silence that got to her in the city. There was no one on the street. Few people left their homes. Few could of course, but even animals had left the cities. Birds did not land in them. There was little life at all. Some trees. More down by the river. She checked out a bicycle at the stand and rode west, toward the lawyer's office. She followed the map he'd included in his letter, but already streets had been renamed. She took a wrong turn down New Chavez when what she wanted was Old Chavez. She had to retrace her steps back to the river. That she didn't mind so much, the river was the only thing alive in the city, the clusters of trees that hugged its edges made the rest of the city more bearable. She looked at the map again and plotted a new route that stayed beside the river as long as she could. That was how she saw the fox. It was standing on the bank, watching something she could not make out. She stopped to watch it, but it heard the crunch of her tires and turned toward her. It had a smile on its face, the way foxes always seem to, it studied her for a bit, with what she took to be mild interest. Then it turned away and trotted off down the bank, on about its business. She sat a while longer on her bike, watching the banks for other signs of life, but seeing none. + +After an hour of riding, including hitting several dead ends and retracing her steps, she found the white three story house of the lawyer. She knocked on the fourth door in a row of doors and she heard the bolt slide back. She waited the usual minute and then entered. The room was small. White, very white. Lit by several lamps, making it nearly as bright as outside. There was a chair, a narrow table and a window that looked into to the house where she could see the lawyer busy at his desk. -She checked out a bicycle at the stand and road west, toward the lawyer's office. She followed the map he'd included in his letter, but already streets had been renamed. She took a wrong turn down a new Chavez when what she wanted was old Chavez. She had to retrace her steps back to the river. +Beyond him she could see her brother. He hadn't noticed her yet, he appeared to be studying something on the table in front of him. He looked older than he had last year, more than a year older. His sallow complexion continued the yellow, like a book fading in the sun, though in his case it was probably more from avoiding the sun. He was gaunt and thin. He was sick. She wasn't about to argue otherwise. But that was the choice he'd made. And he would have to understand that the trees were not there to continue to prop up a life he'd forfeited years ago though decisions of his own choosing. No one had forced him. She felt the anger rising in her. She took a breath and looked away. That's when she noticed her sister. +he is suing to sell the trees because he needs the money for an organ replacement. Talk about her in the city. the trains, the horses and bycycles. don't mention that there are no cars, but there are no cars. there's not much electricity. Power during the day in the form of solar energy, but no batteries to store it. Candles and fires. wood burning stoves. @@ -128,7 +134,6 @@ Talk about her in the city. the trains, the horses and bycycles. don't mention t -After an hour of riding, several dead ends, she found the white three story house of the lawyer. She knocked on the fourth door in a row of doors and she head the bolt slide back. She waited the usual minute and then entered. The room was small. white, very white, and lit by several lamps, making it nearly as bright as outside. There was a chair, a narrow table and a window that looked into to the house where she could see the lawyer busy at his desk. --- @@ -218,7 +223,7 @@ She saw him smiling at her out of the corner of her eye. "Do not be angry at bei "You are a person of water." -"What is Karrin?" +"What is Kerrin?" "Also a person of the water." |