Uncle Bob's Song

 

Uncle Bob looks like an unmade bed. He seems dusty. He seems innocent of muscle tone, unlike his boyhood friend, Ralph. He could almost hide in a thrift store just by sitting on a greyish old chair. He’s only about 6’ tall! Maybe all of that smoking did stunt his growth!
        And yet, and yet in his hazy abstracted way he is an acolyte of word. He is an unspeaking servant of that ticking, internal, relentless pressure. Poor Uncle Bob. He is a poet.
        Once upon a day, Ralph went walking up through his forest kingdom and out into the open, scene of the logging days in the Great Forest. He was looking for his old friend, Uncle Bob. He was heading for the Stump House.
        “Hello, Firekeeper,” said Ralph when he saw Suzy, who was in fact tending a small fire. “Good fortune, Lady! I’m looking for my old friend and I don’t see him.”
        “Look up, Sir! He’s not on earth!” laughed Suzy, in Saslingua, her usual language.
        “Has he taken wing?” inquired Ralph, with a big grin and eyebrows up.
        “Observe!” said Suzy, pointing above the Stump House.
        And there was Bob, just like a fiddler on the roof without a fiddle.
        “Bob! What are you doing up there?” said Ralph. He hadn’t been aware that Uncle Bob  was capable of climbing a large stump.
        “I’m thinking,” said Bob. He sat up and looked down at Ralph who was squinting up at him. “I found this chair in a house where nobody lives, Ralph. It’s a good place to think. I figure when the rains start, I’ll burn it.”
        “Why up there?”
        “Up here I can’t hear anything but the words. It’s not so confusing up here, Ralphie,” said Bob.
        “You amaze me Bob. What words are you talking about?” said Ralph.
        “It’s a song. Kind of a song,” said Uncle Bob. “Do you want me to sing it?”
        So, Uncle Bob sang his song in a soft tenor voice, which Ralph had never heard before. It was sung in formal old Saslingua. It’s tough to translate without sounding terribly old fashioned,, but one does one’s best! Below is Uncle Bob’s song.
 
 

I behold the world at my fingertips,
As I, dreaming, reach out. Ah, golden
Are the threads of air. Tender. Diffident!
Let me approach it. Ah, sweet!
I bear witness to foliage! Friends,
Gather near! Come blossoms!
As trees are my witness, I adore thee!
Massive, this cathedral of temperature, this atmosphere!
I am here! Fishes! Feathered beings! I am here among you!
And there is power, beating
In the heart of these rocks!
I am listening! I am here!
Maker of all things! I am here!
I adore thee!

 
        “I don’t know what to say, Bob. Now we know!” said Ralph.
        Bob climbed down from his stump, awkwardly, landing with a thump on the ground.
        “What do we know, Ralphie?” asked Bob, landed at last.
        “Well, who you are, I guess, Bob,” said Ralph. “I feel like I need to re-calibrate a little bit.”
        “Um, Ralphie, why did you come looking for me today,” said Uncle Bob.
        “Oh, Ramona sent me. She thought it would be nice if I came myself. So I didn’t send Maeve. She wants you and Suzy to come for dinner. Timbo is still there, and we thought you might like to get together with him again and have some music. You could sing your song again Bob!”
        “Yeah, Ralphie! Sure, we’ll come!” said Uncle Bob.
        “I caught a little buck, and she cooked him, all of him! She thinks we might need help eating all of that!”
        “Music and dinner! Wow, Ralphie,” said Uncle Bob.
And so Ralph, and Uncle Bob, and Suzy walked together back into the forest, finding their way to the Home Clearing.

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