Oy shoyle

Oy shoyle, oy shoyle, cried the little brothers and sisters. Their heads were spinning in one direction, then in the other. Their arms held on to each other in the manner of a link chain. They stretched from one hill to the next, and then to the next hill after that. When the sun went down you could not see them anymore but you knew they were there by the line of their song. Oy shoyle, oy shoyle, la.

They came into being at one end of the line and ceased to be at the other. Oy shoyle, la. Fatigue was carved on their little faces in the shape of wrinkles all turning down. It was more than fatigue, oy, shoyle la.

They had worn out their booties treading in one place and were now standing ankle-deep in dirt. Still grounded firmly they were waiting for messages from heaven, oy shoyle la.

It was night, twelve to eleven. The little brothers and sisters were spinning their heads while waiting for messages from heaven to fall on their finely tuned ears. The strain was more than fatigue. It was the tension of spinning and waiting, of listening and singing oy shoyle, la.

At five to eleven Orion stood overhead. He too had lost his booties, oy shoyle, la. Firmly grounded in space, he shone on the little brothers and sisters. Their heads stopped spinning for one astronomical moment while Orion, with his one spiral arm, tickled them under their chins.

All signs of fatigue, of more than fatigue, were gone for that one astronomical moment.

But when you looked at them the very next day you wouldn’t know, for they were spinning again and singing again oy shoyle, oy shoyle, la-a.