Silently, I watched my father’s hound rush off. Bouncing through the grass to get the goose. Giddy. Proud to make his master happy.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and collect the geese Holt?” my brother asked, not an ounce of venom in his tone. “You’d be faster than Finn.”
My dad hit him lightly. Smacking him gently with the butt of his rifle as the words floated and sank, digging into the earth.
“Don’t say things like that to your brother. He’s a werewolf, not a dog. It’s a legitimate condition,” Dad snarled.
My brother didn’t mean anything by it. Not at all. It was a suggestion made by a young mind. Someone who doesn’t quite understand.
I think about it all the time. Continue reading “Wolf Hound”
I loved this.
The feel of the cold winter, biting at your face. Determined to freeze you. The motion of time stuck in sludge, powerless against your progression. The sound of the bells in the open, enchantingly lighter than the air, causing nature to be jealous.
There was nothing better.
And, when I finally did allow time to record me, it was only to record these small deeds:
Wonder and amazement.
Continue reading “O Starlit Night”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first job as a mechanic. Granted, I knew I’d be working with a lot of guys and–because I was a diesel mechanic–I knew I’d be working with a lot of diesel. I knew that I’d be working with buses, since this was a bus company, after all, and I knew I’d have whatever tools I needed in the shop.
However, I didn’t know about him.
Continue reading “Diesel Covered Sincerity”