Friday, September 21, 2012

A Final Patina

The boots sit there a life unto themselves. And until she moves them they will stand guard, at the door. Many fences have felt their weight. Livestock lifted their heads to familiar steps. And a little girl knew them as the ride across the dance floor. Character graces the leather. And a character they carried for many years. 
His boots came to mind when watching the old priest rubbing his worn black book. It had carried him through life, just like Jonas’ boots. Both mellowed by tears, scarred by loss, and forged by burdens few saw. All said and done, love, a passion for what they believed in, graced the leather, a final patina. 

Friday, September 14, 2012

Patience, Tenacity...and a Flock of Crows

Patience, that’s the best word to describe farming. Impatience, the second best word to describe farming. For days watching the stalks, grown from the golden seed, reach to the blue sky. Fickle is the rain, true is the sun, patient…and impatient is the farmer. They dance the waltz year after year. And despite how fast, or how slow, they return, year after year, filling life’s dance card. 

Dancing…that’s how the season ends and she’s home again this year…many wonder if she’ll come.

“Is she brave enough?” That’s what they are chirping at coffee each afternoon. 

Brave? Heck, it’s tenacity, that’s what gets her through, pure tenacity. It galls them, how she keeps going despite years of gossip.

I better be polishing my dress shoes, wouldn’t want to miss those birds eaten crow come Saturday night. 

Patience, tenacity, and a flock of crows…this should make for a good whirl on the dance floor.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Well Traveled

That road led everywhere and nowhere. Funny, how the tick of the clock changes your perspective. Dust, wind and the heat of an Indian summer becomes less of an irritation and more of a treasure when another season comes and you’re there to enjoy it.

This road has seen three of the McCabes come and go. 

A twister danced over it while time stood still. We all held our breath that day. 

How many vet calls have resulted in that Jeep or his old pickup kicking up a trail of country road smoke left hanging in the humid fall air, until well out of sight?

And it was the hardest road traveled the day she went home to the empty place.
Trips down this gravel path will continue. I just pray they will get easier with time. On goes the ticking of the clock…