Stakeford River (10/01, 10:00am)

Stakeford River (10/01, 10:00am)

The gray clouds have given way to a bright morning above the Stakeford River. Black-capped chickadees make their slow songs from the trees across the water. The branches sway with the morning’s wind.

A small white canoe makes a slow approach from the North. Its rower, a thin woman with a wrinkled face and neck, is wearing a bright pink dress and a wide-brimmed hat of the same bold hue. The hat shades the top portion of her face, including her eyes. She is wearing frilly white gloves as she gently rows with the river’s flow, and the tune she is whistling would seem familiar yet foreign to passersby.

Further South, a man in a black faux leather jacket is sitting on the sand, close to the shore. His long brown hair has been pulled back into a ponytail. He rests his elbows on his knees. The water occasionally brushes up close to his brown boots. The man is holding something cupped in his hands.

It is a quiet morning. In town, the top story in the newspaper revolves around a disembodied head found in the town’s old brick well, but the news has not yet reached the river, where the chickadees continue to call.

Gazing upward at the surface of the cold water, Cliff Alset moves along in slow motion through the river, like an alligator making its way forward. He can handle the cold water. His love of swimming has been with him since a child of three years. The morning sunlight has just broken, and flickers above him. Upward he swims to greet the light.

Bursting for breath, and shaking his hair, he makes his way to the river bank where a large grey rock has his name on it. Climbing quickly out and onto the stone, Cliff Alset sits on his throne and gazes high into the cloudy sky.

Clouds broke and the bright sunshine wrapped around Cliff's body. He shut his emerald eyes a moment. A familiar tune was being whistled down the river toward town. He turned his head toward the melody. "I know that song."

Cliff stood up and kept his eyes pealed down the river. "I KNOW that song!" As he gazed, he saw a small white canoe heading his way. A figure wearing pink clothing, topped with a pink hat, was slowly rowing in a southbound quest. He rushed back to his vintage Volkswagen Beetle parked along the dirt road some fifty feet away. He slipped on his bluejeans and donned his long-sleeve shirt. After slipping into his boots he rushed back to the river's edge. The little white canoe was close enough that he could see the older lady calmly controlling her vessel, and continuing to whistle that strangely familiar melody. He then noticed the woman in pink was wearing white gloves. Cliff waved in a friendly manner.

The woman in the pink dress turns her face toward the man. She looks at him for no more than two seconds and then turns her face away, so she once again faces ahead of her canoe. She continues whistling her tune, but the whistling is notably louder and quicker. She continues to row her canoe down the river, ignoring the man on the shore.

Cliff lowered his head. "Oh well. Should head into town." he told himself in a whisper. He slowly walked back to his car and headed away from the Stakeford River.

Along the road homeward, his mind kept flashing back to Angela. He still felt waves of guilt for not getting to her quick enough. The Belle Fourche River was cold that day nearly nineteen years ago. It was windy. The rocks were slick in places. If only he could have got to her sooner. If only. "I have got to get over this", he tried to convince himself.

Up ahead on the left was Brown's Gas Station. "Better get some fuel."

Munching on a bean and cheese burrito he picked up while filling his Bug with fuel, Cliff drives to his humble mobile home planted on a half acre of wooded area about two miles south of Stakeford along River Road. He pulls in and parks under a large sycamore tree. After polishing off his early lunch, he wipes his hands on a napkin and exits his car.

While fumbling with his keys to unlock the door to his humble little mobile, Cliff hears a rustling of leaves. Looking high into the branches of the sycamore tree, he sees something horrifying. A pale face is gazing down upon him with great sadness. It appears to be white head just dangling among the leaves. "What the fuck?", he whispers frighteningly. Suddenly this 'head' turns away and leaps into the air. "Oh shit! Just a damn owl." Cliff watches the large white owl sail off and vanish between two trees.

The young man with his hair in a pony tail looks into his cupped hands. He is holding a pocket gold pocket watch. After some time, the young man stands up and leaves the river.

As he leaves, the young man hums and then sings softly:

"Look at how life has gone away,
my sweet love is gone away,
my sweet love is gone today,
my sweet love is gone today..."

The owl watches.

STAKEFORD RIVER IS NOW CLOSED