Stone Angels

By Kyle O'Dell

In the beginning was recreated the heavens and the new earth. This is romantic and blooming white roses at the moment of creation. Her face is nirvana and the stars bring glory to her countenance as the suns and planets. This is legend become myth. Now is her blond hair through moments of recreation and nebular romance. The lords and princes are here bowing to her grace, forever in her lucidity.
This light in awe of it, waters and streams flowing electric and saturated in her mourning, light on rain in waves falling.
Here are spring rain poets on the nod.
Here are trumpets from anceint city states playing her tone.
Blue and green in lovely romantic gloryesqe ceasarian grace.
The writers of beyond dream the notes the sails to the beyond dream lands.
So here you are in her face, hands, eyes like strawberry feilds laying down looking up at the new havens and dream...blue.
Fire and romantic burns looking at it, faust and also macbeth and lords of night.
Beauty.
She is the genesis and the revelation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524584863

Kyle O'Dell

Kyle O'dell loves to go fishing, sail boating and hunting. Painting, Sculpture, and Orchestra of the movement of sound.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Kyle O’Dell.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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.

Rev. date: 10/11/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

756878

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 1

In that year rain fell continually, through the day, and in the night, rain, and the evening rain falling slanted in the wind. Falling to the lake. The fishing from the high walled dam, and along the white rock banks jutting out and cliffs. The bass hitting, triple hooks going in, the hand carved eye painted luar setting, the rod bending and the grey layed up on the white of the dam. The walls high and the feeling of vertigo looking out over them. The dam walls covered in vines and green leafed vines. And along the steel walkway vines red. There are flood gates opening and falling to a pool below with green and blue. The water cool for swimming.

In the night fires lit the darkness and guitars played. There was the sound of the waters. lightening was there often and clouds and dark clouds. Thunder and white and distant. Lightening and rain. The drops slanted cutting the flame of campfires round rocks. The trees, blowing, leaves rustling lit up by white bolts. The white in the darkness. The expectation of the fishing sleeping on the ground near the earth. The dark green of branches and in the morning light leaves one or in patches falling. Gold red of limbs, the reflection in the slow running stream, leaves on the surface. The clouds too reflected in the water blue and white. The road winding up where the boats went in the water.

Mountains surrounded the lake. Covered in trees and cactus blooming along rocks and boulders. Caves at places with snake dens inside, and snakes along the rock white shores. The water flowing, cascading to the pool below, over rocks and pebbles seen clear in the bed to the spillway and down past boulders weathered in the sun to shallow pools with fish caught there.

The sides of the stream hollowed in places and washed out. The dry caved in and convex earth. Then leaves and dust along the valley in water, the rain, falling, sorrow.

CHAPTER 2

Mainstreet was dead and quiet. The heat was gone from the day.

That was a fight. Mike said.

Yeah. It was a beating, not a fight."

Will broke his nose.

It was. I said. Atleast he could walk away.

Yeah. Will’s mean as hell, seen him fight a lot.

Really.

Did it for nothing, He’s just that way and likes to fight.

He’s allright though. If your his friend.

Well, I guess so, I said. Probably were his only friends.

Yeah. Us and cheerleaders.

A horse was running down the sidewalks, a cowboy chased after it and caught it. The sidewalks are old and the buildings red and western.

You going to that party this weekend? Will asked.

Maybe.

Get drunk.

That’s a good ideal.

At my place I grabbed my shoulder pads and helmet and told mike goodby. I stayed outside of town in a white house down a dead end road. The house set elevated and you could see a lot from the porch. There was only one house close by. This had short white columns on one side and a circular drive and stone birdbaths and hedges that fenced the yard.

Down the hill was slow falling and a garden and tool shed at the bottom. Indian paint brush on the slanting and pecan groves and a garden at the bottom. Looking up you see the shed, the seperate tools inside and the house looking down. There is a path at the bottom cut through the tall grass. The creek was past here snakeing through tall brush and hanging overgrowth, down past bobwire fence and bridges of fallen trees. To dark pools. The ivy and briars along the side and thorns. The water shallow at places, the sand flowing and Running out into dunes.

And always the crows calling and gathering. Deer running in bands in the woods. The crystal gypsum shimmering in the sun and old bottles buried along the banks.

CHAPTER 3

In the morning I woke up and went outside to breath the air. Sparrows flew in and out of holes in the bird house pirched high. The birds were singing about nothing. There was a sound of arrows hitting hay. I looked over near the two apple trees, their limbs touching the ground near the square bale targets. Arrows hitting.

Morning.

The old man had a compound bow.

What do you think?

You’re a good shot.

How you been?

Allright.

He layed his crutches against his chair and set down. He lost the leg in Vietnam. As a platoon leader for two tours in the jungle. He never said how he lost it but had talked of searching for it in the ruins of some city in his dreams.

How’s practice?

Okay, it’s the heat sometimes.

Don’t hurt someone like you.

You’d like to play again?

Yes. He said.

Were you any good?

"For a while. Then the war came.