Bell Hammer Song

In the battle with the mammoth, the trap was set, the pit becoming a sinkhole ready to kill the beast when the earth collapsed under its feet. The mammoth stood no chance of survival, the weight of its tusks and gigantic body working against the skills which had allowed the mammoth to exist.

In an attic room, a ray of the the western sun illuminated shadows of memories and loves, as well as keepsakes from other lifetimes. On a cherished old family chair, a painting of pears and grapes was signed by the artist, barely visible. Upon investigation, the cardigan sweater of a prior owner revealed itself on the back panel. The sweater was pale blue with a zipper front, a useful item for to cut the chill in both spring and autumn.

Somewhat frayed, a stain or two were obvious on the sweater. Nevertheless, my heart was gladdened at the discovery. The weight of the cotton fabric was unnoticed. And then, there!, in the front pocket were familiar shapes I could have made out years ago...relics my ancestors left behind.