Quick aside... so far my "October Insanity" is going swimmingly. Thank you for asking. As part of that effort, I'm getting contributing weekly (though hopefully not weakly) to three different flash fiction contests. If it's Monday (as I write this) it must be Indies Unlimited.
This week we had to work off a nice fall picture.
This is (the not so nice) "Fall Fire."
Damn those stupid municipal ordinances.
Especially those that outlaw perfectly reasonable activities, like
burning leaves.
“Fall foliage.” The words roll off
the tongue so much more smoothly than “autumn arboriage.” Who
among us does not maintain a little alcove in our special warm place
for memories of fall, and all the crispy, colorful beauty associated
with it?
As we get older, Christmas begins to
lose its wondrous and magical appeal. But fall remains pure,
unsullied by crass commercialism.
I grew up surrounded by acres of
woodlands. So many Saturday mornings were devoted to the ritual of
raking leaves. Collect them on a huge blue tarp. Drag it to the back
of the lot. Repeat, until the yard was clean. Sprinkle a bit of
gasoline. Ignite. And enjoy.
Year after year after year.
My father could have asked the
landscapers to do it. But he wanted me to.
“It’s good exercise.”
“It builds character.”
“You have to work for everything in
life.” (Even though he didn’t; he inherited his fortune from
Grandpa.)
Yes, how ironic that my father believed
you had to earn everything.
Even love.
That’s probably why Mom left him, and
all that money, behind. I wasn’t willing to do that.
In some ways I miss those days. I
suppose I'll miss my father some day, too.
Damn those stupid municipal ordinances.
Especially those that outlaw perfectly reasonable activities, like
burning leaves.
It sure will take a long time to
dispose of a body in the fireplace.
Happy raking!
o.O
ReplyDeleteI love your stories. They almost always make me go o.O.
Happy raking to you too!