Construction time

I shouldn’t say my life went off the rails, that I deconstructed it, that I fucked it up…it’s not productive, healthy, nor right to say any of those things. But I did sometimes, because it was a nice little life, a comfortable life, a happy-on-quite-a-few-days-of-the-365 life. But, 2 years ago, it must have not felt the way it feels in this soft-focus, scared-of-the-future hindsight.
Change is afoot in this life; this life that veered so willfully off the well-lit and safe path to allegedly-happily-ever-after; this life that turned it’s back on in-sickness-and-in-health.

I accept my past actions.

And now, it’s construction time again.

Toads

Poseidon fed us toads, still, we fished, and talked of bigger, edible fish that would come. We fished, me, my Dad, my son…it was good.

I always wanted to breed Black Angus

Climb into the picture with me. I’ll pick a flower for you, I’ll wind one into my hair. Let’s wander through the vines and chase the Angus, “Fuck, that’s a bull!” we’ll giggle-laugh and stumble-flee. We might flick off our shoes and roll our jeans up and wade on the weedy-muddy edge of the dam. Mud will squelch through our toes and splatter our legs, our feet will freeze, but we will warm them to life again with a crackling fire and rib eye fillet.