Saturday, July 25, 2015

A most delightful day.

It started early. Indeed. Two-thirty A. M. early. With a sole wandering down the street tooting under their breath on a whistle. One toot each left foot striking the ground.


So it didn’t start all that well, but days are long and naps are possible, aren’’t they?

I was taking onne of those naps as the temp headed for 100 degree’s when Renter banged on the door and calling my name.

He was, he said, just being nosey and checking on how I was doing, and  checking on the calves.

Now, I believed him. Almost. If I hadn’t seen him walk around the house before banging on the door, looking at the roof.

Never mind.

I told him I wasn’t paying the village one peercent tax. Not with the ay him and the council were spending money. He grunted.

We got to  talking and I learned that the near neighbors brother had just gotten out of jail. Renter didn’t know what he’d been in for, but out he’d gotten two days ago. And guess what?

Go ahead.

No?  Well, okay. The near neighbors brother was arrested again last night and is in jail again. This time he  was arrested for theft. He had a fellows lawn mower in the back of his pick-up truck, covered up with a tarp.

Now, how that was  seen, Who knows. But discovered it was and him arrested.

A most delightful day.

Sugar on one hand, pickling juice on the other.

I think the walker tooting the whistle under his breath is a village councilor’s nephew. He, the nephew,  fired off a gun while Renter was here. Upset Renter, whom himself is a councilor, something fierce.

Renter doesn’t like gun shots in the village.

He needs to  get out more. They are around all the time.


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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