School writing Homer Homer Magazine Section

March 29, 2014 – 01:14 am

As the last rays of sunlight filtering through the branches of pine trees dotting the filthy floor of reddish wood, the only sound in the air is the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair on the porch.

Above the chair is perched a sit all bones, sailing in jeans overalls at least two sizes bigger. Attached to sit there the rest of the body of Otis, clinging to a double charge and held in her lap. The rocking chair and Otis's eyes look to the west, towards the sunset.

It looks like a night like any other. And it would, if it were not for the burning fuse, in the cellar.

For friends Jessie and Billy Bob, Otis is Ladle, because of frail physique and the line of the back, just above the shoulders, where part of the neck, forms a curve unnatural, like a spoon. His head is bent forward, as if he were perpetually peering from a keyhole. Otis if it is never taken for her nickname. Otis if it is never taken for nothing.

In the garden in front of the porch is a parked Ford pickup of '79 amber, with two white stripes on the sides. Specks of rust and mud patter plates here and there, especially near to the wheels. The lawn around the house is high and dotted with clusters of weeds. The average height of the tufts only decreases along the path leading to the front door. To enter the house you have to go to the porch where he sits Otis, who meanwhile a deep breath the air of the evening, dilating his nostrils.

Then you cross a mosquito net pitted and we are located in the living room, in the dim light.

Against the wall there is a chair that was once green. Now tends more to brown, and is covered with patches of sweat and cigarette burns. Above is a banjo tuned badly. In front there is an old black and white TV is not turned on for eight years and two months.

On the left wall of the living room hangs a deer's head. On the right of a wild boar. They look with irony.

Four squirrels, stuffed in an upright position, and are arranged in a circle facing the center, like they were dancing a dance rural.

Five steps to right, starting from his chair, and he is in the kitchen. The refrigerator is a hum of background that sometimes makes you lose Otis in his thoughts, as if hypnotized, as long as the coolant begins to flow in the tubes and produces small bursts, strong enough to revive him. Because of the fridge you are careless and burned eighty dinners, until now.

Source: www.omero.it

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Orlin Brommer: Discovering the treasures of five generations  — Winona Daily News
I counted six rocking chairs but no modern recliners. There were innumerable dolls ready for reincarnation or to be used as props in a horror movie. All were 60 or more years old. The boy's toys were from the 1930s or before.

5 Midwestern Small Towns to Visit Now  — Fodor's Travel
As a quintessential artsy town in Wisconsin's Driftless Region, Mineral Point's nine antique shops sell everything from antiquarian books (Foundry Books) to Native American textiles (Tunestam's Antiques).

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