Excuse me as I do a silly, happy little dance to the words: I’m early, I’m early, I’m early . . . 😉
Yes, it’s not the deadline and I have actually got my story for Friday Fictioneers done. Yahooooo! Many thanks to Rochelle.
While Aunt Jo was a hurricane traversing seas, visiting countries, leaving chaos in her wake, Uncle Jim was a banal sunny day. She grew angry with him for watching life pass by.
And then he died.
Certainly, she was upset, but she was madder that “he never lived.”
That Sunday as I helped organize his office, I discovered hundreds of handwritten poems exploring nature, people, behavior. Each portrayed the depth of this man we never knew.
My beloved bemoans my boring ways
blind to the lives I live vicariously
while she scales mountains
I absorb the philosophy of pilgrims