Drag muddied thoughts below where boots belong. Have you seen the eyes below. Stable happens after explosive actions, or, before them; just before we thought we knew enough to say so, but then again we didn’t. So, there was a boot, and the footprint is dying.
I’m from mud. Happily I tell this to anyone who asks. There was a deep raving across from our house. At the bottom of the ravine was a brook. In Spring Time the brook rushed with the melting of the snow. Mud was everywhere and I loved it. The sun rose higher each day and I stayed outside with it as long as I could.
This past Friday I drove back home. I saw my old ravine. I saw faces that held strongly to their belief that only they know what they know and the same bitterness hung about their hue. I don’t miss that. Not one bit. But, I do miss the landscape. I pulled over, a short mile away from my old ravine, and took a picture of a Bull. I walked through the wet grass and draped my arms over the fence to eliminate it from the photo. The Bull stood and huffed at me. I was lucky to have such a view at an early age. And, I knew it.
If you enjoy beer with your whiskey you may enjoy this story. It’s based on true events. The hardest working men and women I know drink. They’ll watch the foam slide down the glass and empty the contents and order another. Some are covered in mud and dust from working in the fields and other’s pull on their suit to be sure they haven’t wrinkled.
The first chapter is tough. Don’t Be A Sally is based on true events. Cheers.
Photo taken by me. Use your smart phone, kindle, laptop, or iPhone reader and click the link below to read the story.
There’s a bench at the end of the path. The bench faces a line of pine trees. Just on the other side of the trees lies the answers. Someday we’ll sit on the bench and discuss what’s to know. A frog hops near. We ask the frog if we ought to wait before we walk within the trees and he replies, ‘Wait. Wait. If you wait enough you’ll remember to wait and forget to not.’ We asked the frog what that means because we weren’t sure we heard him right and the frog told us, ‘Something will because you asked.’
He had said much but much was said without seeing. He wasn’t my friend though he thought so. In fact he thought we ought to be best of friends. Mud has a funny color and at most times we cannot see it. A hole deepens and we approach and ask if we might want to follow it down to see what’s to find. We ask, ‘Should we?’ and wait and the trees care very little about our question. However, the frog is again here and replies, ‘If you were to lay your small face against the mud and listen you might know before asking.’
I told you no. When you’re small gender doesn’t matter. Don’t, let’s not pretend this hasn’t happened to us also. Understand. We became angry and self destruct and then rebuild only to repeat the entire cycle. Fair has nothing to do with it. Gender has nothing to do with it. There’s a rock strolling along in the mud. Which is odd because rocks don’t move. They are stuck in situations. The rock speaks up and reminds us that situations change.