823. REGRETS AND MORE

REGRETS AND MORE
Ahead of a million miles are a million
more - meaning, I think, that one never
gets where one's going. Although it never
feels like that - all the burden is felt behind
and not so much ahead : where the fun's
supposed to be. I wash my hands of that.
-
Periwinkle and willow.
An old farmhouse at the
edge of a stream and meadow.
Together they've probably fought
five-hundred storms. Wind-whipped,
cyclonic, crazy atmospherics. The fog
ripped through here, one March, like
a fiery furnace on legs of steam - a
weather-born locomotive ripping and
clawing at each item in its path.
Everything survived.
-
I realized, just as quickly, that I'd
mixed things up one too many times:
metaphors, people, situations. As soon
as I had spoken, I realized the wrong
words had just left my mouth. Well, I
guess you can't blame an orphan for
its parents, nor blame the tiger
for the lamb.