Photo © Sarah-Paige Photography PortfolioVisit her new blog site to see additional photos.
And, her 2009 In Pictures And, her writing HERE
Sarah lives in Canada, and writes poetry and takes pictures while
studying Psychology and Social Sciences.
Photo used with permission from Sarah-Paige.
studying Psychology and Social Sciences.
Photo used with permission from Sarah-Paige.
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RUST TO RUST...
When I was back in high school,
I got a wondrous gift,
From dear old Uncle Fred,
Who was old, and blind, and deaf.
A gleaming white Ford pick-up,
Showed up that special day,
My Daddy handed me the keys,
And soon I was on my way.
For almost 30 years,
I kept that grand old truck,
It took me where I had to go,
Just a tank of gas & a bit of luck.
One day it chugged its last,
In a field behind the barn,
I just left it sitting there,
A shrine amidst the corn.
Now moss grows thick upon its roof,
And rust invades its frame,
Mother Nature takes things back,
To the place from whence they came.
Moss grows where beauty lives.
So many pass it by and forget to look at the colors of green, lush and haunting and wanting to be touched.
The year I left for college, I made Johnny walk me to the river in back of Tyler's Bar and Grill. The trees were still thick with leaves, and noone ever went back there. Not even to make out.
There were rumours of a man who slept in a cabin just beyond the river. A man who they say raped little girls, and left them in the river for dead. I knew they were lies. My brother, Sam, would never do such a thing. He was scared of his own shadow, and couldn't stand to be looked at. The day that Daddy died, Sam lost his mind. Who would protect him now? He slept by the river to be close to Daddy's truck. Crazy, but I understood why. The truck was the only thing that Daddy left behind. The only good thing that Sam remembered.
On warm, Summer nights, Daddy would take Sam out for long rides out in the country. Sam in the back of the truck with Charlie by his side. Charlie's long, wet tongue hanging out of his stinky mouth. His tail wagging like a fool. Sam was at peace in Daddy's truck because no one stared at him. No one judged him. Only Charlie licking his sunburned face, and the wind howling in his ear.
We never found out how Daddy and Charlie drowned, but his truck, now covered in moss, keeps their memory alive. I wish it would sink to the bottom, but I don't know what would happen to Sam.
I never did see him, or say goodbye. But, that day I said goodbye to Daddy's truck, and never looked back again.
Wow, Why...what a touching tale.
A rolling stone
Will gather no moss
Or so the folks say
Rolling while stoned
Or while on the sauce
In the moss-covered ditch you may lay
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