Crimson and Juniper

Under noon’s gaze, eyes narrow search for the prize wether, ensnared by rope and legs bound by azure threads. Perched on the truck bed, among eager, greasy grandkids, united by a craving for mutton. Drift amid shifting sands and whispering winds, where planes pirouette in harmony. Laughter before reckoning as reflected lights blind from rearview mirrors. In that split second when eyelids flinch shut, the wether shatters his twine restraints. Children rush in, their eager hands grasp its joints before he can flee. They weave the blue hay twine, tighter and firm, with a double square knot’s embrace—the white truck’s ten-ply tires glide over the sand, as glittering quartz grains dance aside.

The truck backs up to a special tree, where a blessing gathers as a family, giggles and wide smile lines are shared among them. Women, young and old, move back and forth to the house where Great-Nálís spent many seasons and years. Their arms are full of mismatched bowls, paper towels, and last year’s newspapers. They carry dull kitchen knives, resharpened more times than one can count, snot drips from the wether’s nostrils, thickened by the juniper pollen and red sediment of sandstone. His hot breath clings to my skin. His jaw tilts up as rectangular eyes stare into the green canopy of juniper berries. Crimson trickles to the earthly ground, mixing with sand and wool as the wether draws his final breath. The heaving slows, and then the silence is deafening.

Steel blades murmur through knee and hock, shearing fleece from sinew and bone. Rope spiral through the tendons’ arc, raising the wether to the juniper’s shade. From shoulder’s peak to rump’s curve, the sheepskin peels. Wind’s breath grazes wet tissues, as proteins and collagen crackle. Red-polished fingertips grip to a veil of fat, a translucent screen where a silhouette \u2028merges—a niece cradling the hallowed torso for her uncle. A carving knife whispers along the spine, guiding the bolt cutter’s path. The bolt cutter snaps, shattering rib bones, sending ivory shards into the flesh. Rib chops are set aside, destined not for the plate, but to simmer in a stew.

Mutton melts in flame,
grease ignites sacred fire. Dark
smoke spirals high.