by Tom Bryan

Two different places,not far apart, known to myself and a few coyotes, foxes, thistles and yellow butterflies resting in the shade. One place has a fence around it ( old rusted iron) snaked through with creeping vines and poison ivy. The other is pressed into a clay mound. Inside the fence are leaning tablets of limestone, furrowed with weather, etched in moss and mould, the letters carved there blurring into troughs; stone scarred by ice, blistered by sun. Soon, it will be hieroglyph only, to be puzzled over; stones will fall flat, soil will wash over, weeds will soon cover all. I read the words there, so did a few others; The words once mattered to people who had education; who had books once in their grand New England timbered homes; here they came. "Nathan, died Milksick, 1819..." "Charity, from fev.." "Dead here, 3 yrs. old, Eth. Blackaby."Nimrod, pox, and Nahum" From the east, down the hill. No corn then, the river wilder, flooding its banks, malarial swamp land up to where is now a road; all now sinking among trilobites and white lime powder.

The second place--in the clay. Walk up from the road, near the last telephone pole, claw your way through poison ivy, Virginia creeper and Solomon's seal. Pull your way up the steep bits by means of sassafras saplings and grapevines. You will see huge gold-black garden spiders blocking your path with swollen, saturated webs which have not been broken for years, will not be broken again for years, finally may never be broken. The steep bit ended in a cave, on a flat clay bank; you turned towards the setting sun and you would see at once through a hole in the trees where the sun rested on the branches of a black oak tree. This site has been sung in Shoshone, Shawnee, Pawnee, Menominee, Miami, Huron and many other dead languages of the forest. The place where the sun rested on the tree, was named "going to the sun". The river below looked like a black scar against green corn, its line only thickening with the spring floods, or turning silver in frozen winter. They came here to pray. We came here to find arrowheads of flint and chert. Some stones we found came from two thousand miles away. Above this (just as we were above the river) bulldozers were busy, making asphalt driveways named after European castles. The women who would live there were tall, cold and pampered.Their men drove sleek cars with tinted windshields. Each house had a tree growing in pine bark, with decorative hedges requiring regular trimming. In addition, a swimming pool, country club, tennis courts and security system. The sun will still be in that place; the sun and the river. The leaning limestone slabs might serve as patios and walkways. That black oak will be cut down. As a result, the sun will never again have a resting place. The sun will have to keep moving, finally sinking in the West, like Abigail, Prudence, Nahum and Ethan.

© Tom Bryan

Tom Bryan is the current Brownsbank Writer in Residence. He presents his biography as follows:-

Born, Manitoba, Canada, 1950. Father Irish-Canadian, mother Scottish. Father and grandfather homesteaders and wheat farmers on Saskatchewan prairies. Long resident in Scotland. Citizenship: British

Has published two collections of poetry: “Wolfwind” (Chapman, Edinburgh, 1996) and “North East Passage” (Scottish Cultural Press, Aberdeen, 1996). A third collection, “Rattlesnake Road” is due out this year with Dionysia Press, Edinburgh, as well as a smaller collection “Redwing Summer,” Lapwing Press, Selkirk. Have also published several short stories and had fiction broadcast on Radio Scotland and BBC Radio 4. Short-listed for 1998 Macallan/Scotland on Sunday short story competition and included in that competition's first-ever anthology.

His poetry and fiction has appeared in most of the leading Scottish literary journals, including New Writing Scotland and the Harper Collins/ Flamingo short story anthology. Has been short-listed for major fiction competitions in Scotland, England and Ireland. Has also had work published in England, Canada and the USA.
Editor of Northwords 1992-97, and The Broken Fiddle, 1994-97. Has edited anthologies of fiction and poetry. Writer-in-Residence for Aberdeenshire Council, 1994-97. Appointed first Writer-in-Residence for Scottish Borders, August 1998-2001, Founder and editor of Borders literary magazine, The Eildon Tree. Has collaborated widely with other artists: painters, sculptors, dancers and musicians. Founder member of eclectic Borders band Wolfwind. Has toured a dramatic work called Fusion of Fables, centred on the life of Thomas the Rhymer. It was performed in Tula, Russia in September, 2000, after touring the Borders and Highlands.

Qualified librarian but has worked variously as a steeplejack, house painter, salmon farmer, journalist and pottery worker. First novel, Wolfclaw Chronicles, was published by 11:9 in Glasgow, in October, 2000. A small collection of short stories, The Sons of Macomish was published by Two Rivers Press in Reading, in December, 2000. A non-fiction book about colourful Scots in North America--Rich Man, Beggar Man, Indian Chief---was published by Thistle Press in 1997. Twa Tribes, a non-fiction book about Scots and Native Americans was published by The National Museums of Scotland. First-ever Arts Development Officer for Caithness, based in Wick. Was appointed Brownsbank Writing Fellow in September, 2005.

Divorced, with two grown children. Many interests: angling, hill walking, the environment, local history and music. Play harmonica, write songs. Currently working on several projects: poetry, radio drama, film, fiction and non-fiction.