Tuesday, August 05, 2014

The near hysterical laughter trailed off

When the oldster raised his eyes to me.

You look tired, I said, my gaze running across his snow white hair.

What’s your wish while rest there, watching us laugh over nothing.

Just once more, said he. Even boringly seen a thousand time.

Just once more.

We’re laughing, we  stated, over pictures of Mom and Dad’s clothes and

hair, and how things change.

And remain the same, saiys he, but always the same difference,

the sun rises, the sun sets, the laughing children of a summers day darting

through the misting sprinkler,  the hawks playing, drifting on thermals, and the dogs soft

bark, always from a distance pleasing the imagination and ear.

I enjoy what you say, I say, don’t you always.

Oh, aye, says he, and will, I’m sure, just once more. Just once more.

(He’s still around, last time I checked. He was coming from the voting place and joined me beneath the old Elm tree out front. A rest on the bench before walking home for him. We talked for a while and I thanked him, in my youthful macho, for voting, because I said, so many of the elderly couldn’t, or wouldn’t thinking, I suppose, that it no longer mattered.

He grined and saiid; I know. But I’ll keep enjoying it: Just once more.




From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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