<bgsound src="midis/instasst.mid" loop=infinite> Thank You ©By Russ







Emmalie hates it when I don’t get much done, and she knows I hate it too (though not quite as much). Still, she is aware of my need to feel functional, and how hard it is on us both when I’m not. She took a trip to town, (such a clever girl) returning with a gallon of paint. My God, what a simple fix for everything. I am always amazed at what a little paint can do. Ems happy some work’s been done, I can see it in her face. Old wood is suddenly clean, looking new (while I look a mess). An advertisement to one and all, that this time, I’ve earned my rest. Curious pigeons, and doves, walk around unaware of their navajo red feet, while I look like I’ve had a head on collision with a beet. I can see something useful has been done, how very good that feels. The wild pigeons sitting atop a neighboring tree, are patiently waiting for me to go back into the house, for the yard to become theirs again. In a minute I’ll surrender to their need, but first another look around. Chainsaws in the distance, disturbing the peace, as another person looks for sun at the price of a tree. A tall plant reaches up through the trees, a little stick that I had stuck in the ground last year. Lilac-like clusters, the color of wine, call out to me, as if to say see how lovely we are and I quickly agree. Shasta daisys, tossed out by a neighbor, now call this place home. They’ve grown tall along side of the porch, and stand, politely nodding their heads in greeting, to each gentle breeze that passes by. Each one seeming to say; Is it any wonder that I no longer ask, 'why me, why me', choosing to say 'thank you' instead?

Russ......7-15-97







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