 Friday, March 04, 2005
Saturday morning last and I couldn’t find a fishing show. Man, it’d been so long since I’d seen one. All I could think was 150 channels but no Saturday morning fishing shows.I finally found some atrocious “Bass Master”, the Hollywood-ization of fishing shows. The producers apparently watched too many NBA pre-games because it was all rock music and spot lights and stage sets. Nary a lake or river to be seen. I’ve had such a hunkering for the simple life lately. The Daytona 500 was like a salve. I miss my country music days, the line-dancing, the summer days of wine & gardens. The quiet tendrils of the tomato plants spiralling around the stakes, giving off the scent of memory... *** In spring the valley hints of rain, the sky torn till rains water the thirsts of newborn plants. In summer trees grow rings of girth, leave leaves big as your hands while grasses muffle steps. In fall colors grow festive restive, a bullion soup of hue falling at your feet like seraphim before the Throne. In winter, oh winter, what is winter for? He wondered at leaves dead, composted, only to grow again. • • • • •
Comments:
I hear ya. We stay at a weekend cabin out in the woods for a two or three weekends a year and the difference is amazing.
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As much as I've tried to replicate rural life in the city (our lot is almost an acre and I planted twenty 6-foot evergreens - now 12-foot), I simply could not replicate the peacefulness of the country. While we see only beautiful vegetation we hear everything. |
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Desperately Seeking Retirement      |
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