Today’s coffee reminds me of the day
I ripped a six inch long
one inch deep hole into
the back of my leg.
Thirteen years old,
maybe I was fourteen
at my best friends father’s shop
he worked a lot with cement
and had a big yard
with mounds of gravel
we’d go up and down and around
on our new single track bikes.
It hurt
it hurts
and memories are always there
to bring me away
and back
to where some memories hurt
but ripping the hole
didn’t really hurt
flesh wounds are like that.
Tag: shop
Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXV (day 2029)
Two weeks after Willow had been run
She was feeling good enough
To go back out and try the passage again
So, we packed up
And headed out in the same direction
This time we passed over the woodland
And made it to Amy & Frank’s
Within four days of riding
Very slowly
For it was still a little bit tender
For Willow to ride for too long at one time.
Amy, Frank and Clarinet were ecstatic to see us
They had a new baby boy named Jack
Who Lily of course fell in love with right away
So Lily and Clarinet played house
With the three of them
Taking extra special tender care
Of the little baby Jack.
Willow and I enjoyed the baby too
And I could see that she was thinking about
Having our own little Jack
But we didn’t talk about it
We were too distracted with conversation
Willow and Amy got along really good
I was happy to see that,
And Moon Cow, Frank and I
Mostly worked in his garden and shop
Helping him with some of his projects
We made poles and fixed some fences
Milked his goats and churned the butter
Fed the chickens and chopped some wood
Sharpened some axes and shooed his horses.
Every night we felt like a family
All sitting around anywhere we could
Eating what Amy and Willow had made
They were both interested in exchanging recipes
From each other’s minds
Willow always had so much to share with Amy
About herbs foraged from the forest
Willow learned so much from Amy
About things like flour and pastries
I could see her eyes expand
Watching some of the techniques
Amy did with her oven.
Grandfather’s Shop (day 1557)
A sentence was all I wrote
On a dusty pad of paper
Laying on the old workbench
Inside my late grandfather’s shop.
I knew he was still around there,
He spoke to me in hanging machine parts
Scattered about full walls.
Then I whispered goodnight
And turned down the lights
Making sure the heavy door
Was shut the way he’d shown me how.