| The old man wary of green light
mixed with black clouds, took off for the barn where Doc's news lay beside Maude, its two heads quiet, eyes closed, freaky. The spring storm would arrive at a bad time. The man wished the birth timing had come before or after lightning. Its fierce freakishness followed by drum roll, tore off zigzagging across the sky, headed for a place it alone knew. Calm weather would make it simpler he knew to focus on Maude who in other times had calves with one well-formed head not two so close to dead with unlighted eyes. No bawling cut off by sucking warm milk. A freak to shoot or sell to the entrepreneur of freak shows with highway signs announcing oddities, ripping strangers off. The storm uneasy and ill-timed made Maude low and sway. A ghost light grew dim and the calf lifted one head. The old man turned, headed for the root cellar, away from freaks, pulled the door shut, closed out the half light, touched a spider's web, new potatoes growing eyes in a box there. It's time he resolved to give in, to send off winter, make to spring an offering to welcome an enigma with two heads. Birth and storms come each year at this time. He accepted the Earth's plan, yes even its freaks, marveled at all mysteries old and new bathed in sun's predestined golden light. He prayed an offer to forgive storm's rage and other freaks, raised his head to the slowing of rain on the cellar door and knew in time he would emerge from the dank hole into April lightness. __Myrne Roe, Wichita
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