Uncle Bob's New Song

 

            Ralph was taking a break, lying on his big cedar log, arms behind his head. It was summer and he was listening to the voices of the forest. In the distance he could hear the river pushing its way downstream. Louder was the wind, sighing in the high branches of the firs. There were insects nearby with minuscule songs, speaking of heat and striving. Always, birds. Squirrels rattled around, arguing and almost laughing.
            The heat trapped among the trees made him sleepy; his mind wandered almost to the land of sleep and remembrance. Time slowed and returned upon itself. He sighed hugely.
            Just as he was drifting he heard a familiar shuffling step.
            It was Uncle Bob. He was in a bit of a hurry.
            “Ralphie!” he called. Bob’s eyesight is not great, or maybe it’s his attention which is lacking.
            “I’m here, on my log, Bob. Slow down!” said Ralph, rising to a seated position.
            “Oh, hi, Ralphie!” said Bob. “There you are!”
            “What’s up, Bob? Is everything alright?”
            “Yeah, but I wish Timbo or Maurice were still here,” lamented Uncle Bob. “Music would really help!”
            “What’s the occasion?" said Ralph.
            “I finished thinking up that song I was working on! Do you want to hear it? It’s about the girl in that old movie,” said Bob.
            “How did you know about that anyhow?” said Ralph.
            “Oh, easy. Your mom told my mom, and I heard them talking! Do you want to hear it?” said Bob.
            “Of course I want to hear it! Do you want to sing it now?” smiled Ralph.
            “Yes,” said Bob.
            He stood in front of Ralph where he sat, placed his hands on his dusty looking tummy, closed his eyes and began to sing in a sweet light tenor.
            This is the song he sang:
 
They called you Patty, but it’s not your name.
You’re famous but unknown!
Lovely and swift, just the same…
A braid in your hair, and a hitch in your step.
You’ve quick-stepped into fame!
 
You glanced back, Poppy, anxiously.
We could see your heart trembling.
Did you fear for your children alone?
Were you rushing home, Sweet Poppy?
 
You sail by the stars, and the wind in your hair.
Once, when a girl, did you put flowers there?
You are obscure. Profound.
Remote and dear.
Your wisdom is secret. But true.
Live in joy forever! Blessed are you!
 
            “You amaze me, Bob. You made two songs. Both complete surprises!” said Ralph.
            “I didn’t know I could do it either,” said Bob. “But it happened anyhow.”
            “Kinda wish I knew how to write it down, but we don’t do that do we?” said Bob.
            “You know, Bob, it might not be a good idea. Somehow, I think it might weaken our memory. Right now, you have no trouble remembering your song and you can sing it, no problem.
            “Maybe it’s something like that no photos thing. There is something static about a photo. It freezes and defines a person. I don’t know. Maybe writing is too human, too less-than, for us, Bob. What do you think about that?” said Ralph.
            “I don’t know, Ralphie. I’m plain and kinda dumb. I just think up words. First in our language. Then I say the same thing in English. But I wonder if any human will ever hear one of them, you know?” said Bob.
            “Well, they’re good songs. And I can think of a few people that I wish could hear them, like Millicent and Thaga and Ooog!” said Ralph, already thinking about how to arrange the meeting.
            “I’m going to go home now. Suzy is cooking a big fish, and they don’t take long!” said Bob. Then he wandered back up the way he had come down.
            Ralph lay back down with a smile on his big face and resumed listening to the summer day.

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