Another kern on the mountain

Listening to the fractured voices on the line I could tell she was near a doorway, probably some local bar where everyone else was going to forget a little while and ride credit cards into oblivion. She was there to forget her day and the testing ways of her teenager, who just a day earlier deemed her the bitch. At a cross-roads she called her little brother and we did our usual talk until the cell ran out or the tears were too much. And the cat curled whining for attention as the phone crackled static sorrows into my ear and innocense slipped further. All those easy days gone -- now it was time to be big boys and girls and swim once more in the turgid puddle of life. Mother's grip was loosening - not by choice but because it is the natural order. The daughter cub becomes the bear sooner than you think and claws do sharpen on the rocks of the adolescent cave. Soon enough, the November frost will outline the angry brows and groaning cars idling before a departure. Let us hope the chill is kinder.