Alliances
By Doug Hodges
()
About this ebook
- The Author D. Everett Newell 4/08/2013
Doug Hodges
I have been writing since I was old enough to hold a pencil, with my first poem written in the fifth grade. This led to a career in Colorado newspapers, which lasted more than twenty years, though in a variety of capacities. I once wrote an historical column, titled The Trail’s End. This tied my love of words in with my love of history, a deep-seated yearning flowing throughout my life. A need to blend the humanity and emotion of raw life with the cold stone of fact, the idealism of win and loss with the blood and bone reality of violence being a lose-lose proposition, trying to find that spiritual truth among the physical fact. In 2014, a good friend invited me to share a trip to Gettysburg, which reawakened a long-dormant civil war seed. From this journey came our collaborated book, Bob’s Gettysburg Saga & Poetry. Upon its successful publication, we decided that Bob should visit other historical sites and chose the Alamo for his next venture. Unfortunately, my friend was not able to participate in this endeavor. So I continued, trusting that the spirit of Bob’s creator would find its way between the lines. Following Bob’s section are a couple of obituaries I penned some time ago. Completing the volume are a couple of Western tales. I hope the reader may enjoy this collection of historical reminiscence as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, on the backside of sixty, I reside in the Rio Grande Valley with my wife, who is also my personal editorial department (all errors are still mine, she will be quick to note), three dogs, and a parrot. My wife taught high school English and communication (speech) for over thirty years. When not writing or visiting family, we like to sit around and discuss words and language.
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Alliances - Doug Hodges
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1-800-839-8640
© 2013 Doug Hodges. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Author photo on back cover by Linda Rubio.
Unless otherwise noted, all works, herein, are the author’s. Any ‘worked’ images were accomplished with Adobe Photoshop Elements 9.
Published by AuthorHouse 9/27/2013
ISBN: 978-1-4918-2132-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4918-2239-5 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013917508
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Table of Contents
Title Page: Dragon - Wooden Carving, San Antonio, Texas 2008
Image: Howling - Savannah, Georgia
Prologue
Image: Restaurant
The Return of the Nemesis
Old Year 2012
Noah’s Raven
December 2012
Camo’d
December 13, 2012
Bronco and Raven
January 12, 2013
Image: Cemetery above Alma
Silver Heels
March 1, 2013
Image: Coyote
With those of a like and precious faith
New Year 2013
On A South Padre Island Beach
2000
Washington Goes to Gettysburg
2013
The Gun at Pickett’s Charge
June 4, 2013
Taxiing Along The River Styx
the end of July 2013
Dragon
10/10/76
Afterword
the Voice of Coyote howls on …
howling.jpgas given to
Doug Hodges
As always,
for the Great Spirit,
who started me on my way,
and for Linda,
without whom ….
This book is dedicated to
Thelma Mitchell,
one of my most loyal followers.
She will no longer be reading
these stories, but,
perhaps now,
she may watch them unfold as they happen.
Prologue
when I was a younger man
I roamed the high barren mountain peaks
traversed through hidden valleys
lush and alive, yet
oh, so silent to the noise of man.
I followed crystalline streams and mighty rivers,
heard the thunder and roar through depthless gorges.
I entered in to the secret places
of the earth and explored therein,
like some swallowed Jonah.
the pathways of the world were more than a map;
there were the very veins and arteries of my life,
my bonding with the natural and spiritual elements
of existence.
now, I ponder these things …
I, who am what I am,
because of these things.
I still move,
more slowly and not so far,
not as adventurous and no longer reaching.
I move, now, like the gentle wind,
where I am meant to go,
in whatever way I am led.
like Mary, I treasure the the great mysteries
within my heart.
however, now and then,
a story pops out,
demanding to be shared;
an image, a taste, a melody
from long ago,
and I do feel
these riches were given to me
to pass along,
and this is what I endeavor to do.
I have Coyote and Raven and the others
to aid me, to tickle me, to entice me,
to help bring out those nuggets so long buried,
as well as guide me to the new riches,
which ever abound around.
I am grateful and humbled
and never cease to be amazed
that I was chosen to impart such treasures.
I have been ever-blessed
not the least with my beloved helpmeet, Solospeak …
given to complete myself,
given to guide me, to keep me on some unseen track,
to encourage me and keep me safe and sane.
ergo, dear readers,
you who have chosen to enter my realm of whimsey,
you who have dared to sample these gifts
from God and the Spirits …
this ore, long hidden,
refined through time and mind and action,
vignettes and images and notes,
to these, you are heartily welcome
and may you enjoy your journey
Doug Hodges
Brownsville, Texas, 2013
building.jpgRestaurant - East of Cd Valle,
on the road to
Tampico, Mexico, 2006
The Return of the Nemesis
i
Elysian Fields
It was in the fall. Coyote was renewing himself high in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. The sun was bright and warm, the winds crisp, cold and cleansing. Icy streams tinkled like silver bells while the Aspen sang their haunting, enchanting, never-ending song. The trees likewise blessed Coyote with a vivid, visual, landscape of multi-hued leaves as they joined the tall grasses of the high high meadow in swaying and dancing with the breeze.
On to this scene, one day, burst Lonesome, the dog; a German short-haired pointer, to be exact, and an old friend of Coyote. He was the color of a fir tree trunk and carried a longish tail, the underneath of which was white. He looked for all the world like a white-tailed deer as he pranced and gamboled through the woods.
Not today. Today, lonesome ran pell mell, looking for Coyote. Usually, he moved as quiet as the deer, a ghost like the wind, and was never seen until he was standing next to you. Now, he was crashing, and smashing his way through the wood and underbrush like a maddened bear. Coyote heard him while he was a mile away and so was not surprised to see his friend come charging into the meadow clearing. The hardship of the trip was apparent. Lonesome’s normally sleek coat was a mass of scratches, blood, sweat and slobber.
Coyote! Coyote … let me catch my breath.
Lonesome panted, slinging foam about. They … they told me you … were up here. … met Old Elk and Coon … a couple of the Deer brothers … playin’ poker just down the next valley …
Easy Lonesome.
replied Coyote, leading the dog to a large flat rock. Sit down; relax, get your breath. You’re here, now; so am I. A minute longer of suspense won’t hurt anything.
No, Coyote,
replied the big dog, that’s just it. There’s no time.
The dog grabbed Coyote and looked him in the eye, The Rat’s returned!
It was as if the world hushed, paused and froze. In Coyote’s mind flashed a multitude of images … the Giant Rat … images of Sumatra, down in the Rio Grande Valley, in the mountains of Mexico … so many places, so many times. The Rat was ancient and evil, apparently as ageless as Coyote, himself, and not really a rat at all. Upon closer examination, and very few ever got that close and lived, he was a possum … clever, ingenious, deceitful and dangerous. The ‘Rat’ liked the moniker and promoted it in shadowy fear wherever he went.
The paradise of the mountains had darkened and