Kanata
“Two boys hiding under the bleachers, shaded from the August sun by five hundred bodies, the town reassembled in orderly rows, waiting to be dazzled. A few shards of sunlight penetrated. Michael Mountain Horse and his brother Stanford stared out onto the bleached infield, its thin coat of dust sitting lightly after twenty-two days without rain. Michael lay on an angled support beam with Stanford standing behind him, sharing a sightline that looked past a woman’s ankles (themselves an unspoken en...tertainment).
The cowboy moved his rope in a sinuous dance, interrupted by twists that sent the circle spinning over his theatrically smiling face. He brought the rope to a vertical position, creating a doorway that he stepped in and out of, a jig he kept up for a minute, the rope glancing onto the hardtack and sending up sprays of dust. He had leather chaps with silver studs down the sides, boots with red hearts sewn on the front, and a white hat. The wide circle of rope tightened into a smaller, faster, more sinister circle, moving above his head as he walked around the infield until it landed softly, like a living thing, around the budding corpulence of Percy Wedgewood, a Methodist preacher.MoreLess
The cowboy moved his rope in a sinuous dance, interrupted by twists that sent the circle spinning over his theatrically smiling face. He brought the rope to a vertical position, creating a doorway that he stepped in and out of, a jig he kept up for a minute, the rope glancing onto the hardtack and sending up sprays of dust. He had leather chaps with silver studs down the sides, boots with red hearts sewn on the front, and a white hat. The wide circle of rope tightened into a smaller, faster, more sinister circle, moving above his head as he walked around the infield until it landed softly, like a living thing, around the budding corpulence of Percy Wedgewood, a Methodist preacher.MoreLess
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